Summer Session
by LunaMystik
Summary: Set after Season 4. Demons, Riley, and Harmony have abandoned the Hellmouth for the summer. Buffy is restless. Spike is bored and lonely. Ah, the possibilities.
1. Those Lazy, Hazy Days

Summary: Set after Season 4. Demons, Riley, and Harmony have abandoned the Hellmouth for the summer. Buffy is restless. Spike is bored and lonely. Ah, the possibilities.

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

Rating: M for now, for language and sexual content.

Spoilers: everything up to Season 4's Restless, then goes AU from there.

AN: This is my first attempt at BtSV fanfiction, although I've been reading quite a lot of it for some time now. I know there are _many_ other fics out there that take place during the summer after Season 4, but I truly hope this one has an original spin to it. Chapter 1's title is borrowed from Gilmore Girls.

------

**Chapter 1 – Those Lazy, Hazy Days**

Summer. The time for tiny halter tops, iced lattés with Willow at the 'Pump, and boring, boring, boring patrols.

What was it about the Hellmouth that made evil feel the need to take a couple of months off, Buffy wondered. Apocalypse attempts should – in theory – be just as attractive to demons when it was ninety degrees outside, right?

And there were no vampires. Technically, professionally, and ethically, that was a good thing. No vamps equaled no people dying from mysterious neck wounds, no brawls at the Bronze to break up, and no need to listen to Xander whine as he spent hours whittling stakes into finely pointed tools of dusty death.

But it also meant that Buffy was bored. She was the Slayer – her job, hell, her _life_ was all about hunting and killing vampires. How could she expect to do just that with any sense of accomplishment if there were _no vampires in town to kill?_

Rumor had it that even Harmony had left Sunnydale for the summer – apparently she'd hopped a bus to LAX with every intention of finally seeing France. Buffy certainly hoped the fanged airhead got tempted into topless sunbathing on the shore of the Riviera. She giggled aloud a bit at the thought.

But Harmony's absence meant that the steady stream of hapless minions had all but trickled to a halt. And since Buffy was currently roaming through Restfield, her fifth cemetery of the night, in search of even a shred of evidence to suggest a potential rising was in the works, she was just a smidge upset that her former classmate hadn't had the decency to plan ahead for her return. After all, what was Harmony Kendall without a hoard of braindead followers at her beck and call?

Buffy giggled again at her admittedly weak pun and had to admit that the lack of demon activity wasn't the only thing affecting her. Riley had gone back to Iowa three days ago, and would only return at the beginning of August. His obvious happiness at returning to his childhood home had done nothing to dull Buffy's disappointment that he wouldn't be around to fight the good fight with her. That he was ecstatic to see his family again should have made her pleased for him, but at this point she just didn't want to appreciate all the warm weather had to offer without her significant other. This was her first summer since being called that she wasn't stuck in L.A. with her dad, mourning her dead lover, or miserable because her formerly dead (but still very much of the undead) lover had left her so she could 'have a better life.' And she wanted to party, damn it!

Well, at least she had Willow and Xander and, to a lesser extent, Tara and Anya. As long as she didn't dwell too hard on the fact that her two best friends got to spend time with their respective loves while she was making with the major fifth-wheelyness, she was ok. And Giles was being particularly effective at filling up her days with training and, ugh, research. Also, her Mom was keeping her well funded by letting her earn some much needed cash by helping out at the gallery three afternoons a week.

Really, she was just feeling sorry for herself. She had friends, family, her health, and money for new shoes. She was just being ridiculous. She should be grateful that evil was taking a sabbatical.

Or...

Maybe it wasn't, if the sudden tinglies on the back of her neck were anything to go by.

She smiled. Time to party.

------

Summer. He bleeding hated it.

As Spike stomped through Restfield Cemetery, chain smoking up a storm and aching for a fight he knew he wouldn't find, he mentally ran through his 'why summer royally sucked' checklist.

Reason the first: the sheer amount of daylight hours put a serious crimp on his outdoor activities. As a self-diagnosed hyperactive creature, the days leading up to and exceeding the summer solstice were a source of never ending misery for him. The pitiful few hours between dusk and dawn left him frustrated and antsy, and he was never quite able to spend all his excess energy before it was time to hide out once again from the sun. Rare were the mornings when he could simply return to his crypt and collapse into a deep restorative slumber. At this time of the year, he relied more heavily than ever on the artificial rest he achieved after imbibing massive quantities of alcohol, which put a serious strain on his meager finances, no matter how ill-begotten. And the hangovers upon waking were a bitch.

Reason the second: demon activity was notoriously quiet in the June to August pages of the calendar. As a vampire that felt no reason to limit his evil undertakings to a particular stretch of time, he couldn't understand those of his kind who felt the need to get away from it all. Like that bint Harmony. She'd nagged him for weeks again about visiting sodding France "this time for real, not like last summer" before finally buggering off to make her own way there, leaving him all by his lonesome in good ol' Sunnyhell. Not that he minded, considering what a right pain in the arse she was, but he hadn't had a decent shag in weeks. Which was not helping him in the 'frustrated and antsy' department.

Reason the third: because of the aforementioned lack of demon activity, he was bored. He was a fighter, and the only thing he could fight these days was demons. Therefore, no demons meant no action. Ergo, bored.

Really, at this point, the only things he appreciated about summer were high-heeled sandals, short skirts, and skimpy tops. Which was irritating, in a voyeuristically pathetic way. For William the Bloody, master vampire, slayer of Slayers, to be reduced to ogling pretty girls he couldn't snack on as his only real pleasure in unlife, was sad.

No, worse than sad. It was bleeding tragic.

It was a known fact in the demon community that the vampire suicide rate skyrocketed between May and September. Of course, extended daylight hours and the general stupidity of his species could factor into the equation, but loneliness, inactivity, and bugger all to do also weighed heavily into the balance.

It was quite depressing, really.

He wanted a fight. He _craved_ a good tussle. Fledglings, not that there were many of those around, were good for a quick rough and tumble, a temporary high. But since there was almost no one in town to sire new vamps and the Hellmouth's resident Slayer was around for the summer, he was shit out of luck.

It was a bleeding shame he couldn't fight the Slayer. It pained him to admit it, even to himself, but she was the only one who had ever managed to even come close to exhausting him in a fight. If he didn't have to worry about the chip in his head scrambling his brain, he'd happily spend the whole summer going rounds with her, holding off on the kill in order to gain a repeat performance every night. Not only was she a brilliant fighter, a credit to all in her lineage, but she was a right pleasure to watch, all smooth moves and passion and fire. Made his pants tight in all the right places, she did.

Just as his traitorous thoughts were on the cusp of shifting from using fist and fang to pound the Slayer into the nearest mausoleum to, well, pounding _into_ the Slayer against the nearest mausoleum – and why would his mind even go there? – his nose caught a whiff of her sent.

She was near.

If he was relegated to the sidelines when it came to killing humans, at least he could hone his hunting skills.

Time to stalk.

TBC...


	2. The Only Evil in Town

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 2 – The Only Evil in Town**

Buffy whirled around, casting her senses about to locate the tingle-inducing vamp she sensed in her general vicinity. Tonight was her lucky night. She was really, _really_ itching for a fight.

Should she hold back a bit, draw out the kill as long as she could, or go in fast and furious and just pound the crap out of her soon to be victim?

Stake, or bare hands?

Ooh, or should she unleash that new kick she'd been working on? She was wearing the wrong pants for it, but let nobody say that Buffy Summers was one to back down from the possibility of an uncomfortable wedgie!

She was almost embarrassed by how giddy only the hint of a nearby vamp could make her. Was she really that desperate for entertainment of the undead-ending variety?

Yeah, she really was.

And she was getting impatient about it. "Hey, evil undead," she called out into the night. "I'm all alone and scared in this big, bad cemetery. Come over here and eat me!"

"Well, that's a right temptin' offer if ever I heard one." Spike materialized next to her as if out of thin air, all black leather and blinding bright hair and cigarette smoke. And he was leering at her.

Ugh.

"Spike." A sigh. "I should've known it was too good to be true." A pause. "And, eww. That is _so_ not what I meant."

"My mistake. So then you're not trawlin' the cemeteries offerin' carnal favors to hard-up vampires? Imagine my disappointment," Spike drawled.

"Shut up, Spike. I'm _so_ not in the mood for your and your icky innuendos tonight." Buffy turned to face him, tilting her head to the right as she considered him. "What I'm in the mood for is dusty vampire death. Would you be interested in auditioning for the coveted role of 'Slayer's victim number one?' It's an important part, would totally set the tone for my murderous rampage," she taunted while reaching for the stake she'd stashed in the small of her back.

"Save it, Slayer. You know as well as I do that the only action either us is goin' to see tonight is each other."

"Ok, now you're just being gross on purpose," Buffy pointed out, pushing the visual of Spike and herself in 'action' out of her traitorous mind. Flashbacks to the unfortunate engagement spell were _so_ not needed at the moment.

"Well, yeah. You're jus' so easy to get riled up, Slayer. Almost take the challenge out of it, you do." Spike took a last drag on his cigarette before crushing the butt with his boot. "So, what're you doin' in my cemetery?"

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. "_Your_ cemetery? Squatting in a crypt does not a land owner make, Spike."

"Oi! My crypt is not a squat, I'll have you know," Spike protested, all righteous indignation. "'ve fixed it up right proper. 's even got a telly!"

"I _so_don't care. Here's an idea: how 'bout we each go our own way? I'm not so much in the mood for trading insults with you tonight. So, well, bye," Buffy gave him what she hoped would pass for a cheerful little dismissive wave and spun on her heel in the direction of the nearest exit. It was still early; maybe she could convince her friends that Bronzing it would be of the good tonight...

Spike fell in step beside her. "You know," he started conversationally, "that was a pitiful exit, even for you. Losin' your touch, are you?"

"Ugh, Spike, just leave me alone. Go...well, go do whatever it is you do now that you're all defanged and pathetic."

"You wound me, Slayer, really, you do. So, what crawled up your arse and died?"

She grabbed his arm and hauled him to a stop. "Not loving your conversation skills, Spike."

"Oi, hands of the leather!"

Buffy just squeezed harder. "Why. Are. You. Following. Me?"

"Got nothin' better to do, don't I?" He shrugged her hand off and preemptively winced, most probably in case the chip went off. When it didn't, he continued walking towards the exit. "Besides, 's not like you're busy and couldn't use the company."

"I neither need nor want your company. Ever."

"Now you're jus' bein' mean. Fact is, Restfield and the other cemeteries are dead –"

"Ha!"

"– an' you're jus' like me; you need a good tussle on the regular, or you get restless. 's nothin' to be ashamed of."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know slayers, pet. I know how your kind works. You Chosen birds get off on the fight jus' as much as vamps do. We're jus' more open abou' it."

With that, they made their way out of the cemetery. Buffy turned in the direction of downtown, with every intention of shaking off Spike's company before she made it to the Bronze. Swinging by home to call her friends was not an option with him by her side. She'd just have to cross her fingers that the gang would be there.

The truth was, even though it kind of creeped her out to be on the same wavelength as Spike, he pretty much understood what she was feeling. And, even though it pained her to admit it, if she was honest with herself she could see that he was probably going through a worse time than she was. She had no outlet for her physical frustration, but at least she could go home and scarf down her favorite foods in a misguided attempt to dull her nerves. He couldn't even do that. Which, eww – but objectively speaking, it had to suck.

Her friends tried to understand her restlessness, they really did. But they just _couldn't_ get it. They weren't built like her; they didn't have her Slayer instincts to deal with. For them, no baddies to defeat was a wholly good thing; for her, it was about 99.9 good – and the remaining 0.1 was currently driving her insane. Really, she was metaphorically clawing at the walls here!

And since her current predicament was caused by the lack of baddies in town, and Spike could only get his rocks off – violently speaking, of course – by destroying demons, it was fair to assume that he was going as crazy as she was. Hell, he was merely walking next to her and she could feel him ready to jump out of his skin.

Would it be so horrible to discuss it with him, to see if maybe they could come up with a plan to find a vamp nest to raid? Ok, so Spike and she weren't known for their ability to communicate without having it degenerate into a screaming match, but maybe they were on the same side of an issue here. Maybe they could help each other out.

Or at the very least, maybe he'd offer her the opportunity to take out her frustration on him? It was worth considering.

------

Spike risked a sideways glance at the Slayer as they continued on their way to wherever it was she was heading. She hadn't responded to his last dig about her Calling, and he could just about feel the nerves rolling off her. She was tense and snippy, granted not much of a change for her, but this felt different.

If he was feeling antsy because he couldn't exhaust himself beating and killing demons, it was fair to assume that she felt the same way. Vampires and slayers were basically two sides of the same coin; evil and good, dark and light, night and day. Just because they had different approaches to the same agenda didn't mean they couldn't react similarly.

It was something to consider.

For all the years he'd spent tracking and studying slayers, he felt he knew a fair bit about them. But Buffy Summers was, to him, a mystery. She surrounded herself with friends, went to school, partied, and even had that overgrown git of a boyfriend. She respected her Calling, yet didn't let it overtake her life, and because of her attitude, Spike had to respect _her_.

Which is where the 'mystery' part came in: since when did a vampire respect a slayer? Hate, fear, even hunger for, sure. But respect? It made no sense to him that this temperamental, arrogant, powerful slip of a chit could merit his respect. Which was why he'd just keep that information to himself.

At this point in their little jaunt through town, he could tell she was most likely heading towards the Bronze. She was probably hoping he'd take a hint and leave her alone.

She'd be sorely mistaken.

Because not only was the summer leaving him restless, but he was aching for company as well. He was a sociable creature, and he'd been hanging pretty much alone in the last few weeks. After the whole Adam debacle had gone south, he'd retreated into himself to do much needed, for lack of a better expression, soul-searching. And by the time he'd been ready to show his face again, Sunnydale had become a no-demon zone. Which did not sit well with him.

No, now that he'd stumbled upon the Slayer, she was stuck with him for the night. Even if trading insults was the only treat on the menu tonight, it would still rank higher on his list of activities than prowling an empty cemetery or getting sloshed at Willy's. Alone.

"My friends don't get it," Buffy said, putting an end to the silence that had been dragging on between them as he followed her on her jaunt through town.

"Don' get what, pet?"

"And I figure you might, you know, understand." Buffy paused to nibble on her thumbnail, obviously debating whether to continue.

To push, or not to push, Spike wondered. On one hand, pro-

"I mean, I'm a fighter, right? At the core of it, that's what a Slayer does; she defeats evil, she wages war on the side of good, she fight the good fight until her time is up."

"One good day," Spike muttered.

"Huh? Anyway," Buffy continued, barely aware that he'd interrupted. "That's what I am: a fighter. And right now, there's nothing in town to kill – present company excluded."

"Thank you."

Buffy cracked a weak smile at that. "You're ever so welcome. Now, quit interrupting me. I'm not even sure why I'm trying to explain this to you. But if you want me to stop, I will."

"Oi, pet, don' make idle threats. I feel a real heart-to-heart comin' on. Wouldn' want to miss all the deep insight you're bound to throw my way," Spike snarked, unable to resist.

She stopped, turned to him, and threw up her hands in defeat. "Why do I even bother? You're such an ass that you can't even appreciate that, against my better judgment, I'm trying to have a conversation with you. Just forget it, Spike." She made little shooing movements with her hands. "Just run along and leave me alone. I should've known this was a bad, bad idea."

Spike caught her arm just as she made to stalk off. "Bloody hell, Slayer! Get over yourself for a second. I want to hear what you have to say, it's just that you and me talkin', all civilized like, kinda threw me for a loop, yeah? Not used to you not aimin' for the nose within fifteen seconds of a conversation."

"And did you ever wonder why it is that you and I can't _not_ be at each other's throats?" Buffy asked as she shook him off. "Because, based on your inability to not be all sarcastic boy, I'd say that it's not my fault."

Spike ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I know, I know. You're tryin' to talk, and I'm buggerin' it all up. Carry on, I'll try not to interrupt."

Buffy eyed him suspiciously.

"Really," he insisted. "I think I know what you're gettin' at, and I think we might be able to help each other out."

"Ok, I have to say it: who are you, and what have you done with Spike?" Buffy held up a hand before he could respond. "Lame, I know, but you're confusing the hell out of me right now. Are you up to something? Do you need to lull me into a false sense of security for something?"

Spike had to crack a smile at that. "Slayer, when have you ever known me to be subtle abou' plannin' something evil?"

Buffy looked mollified at that. "Yeah, you're pretty obvious when you're scheming. Ok, I'll continue, but only if you promise to zip it."

"You got my word, pet," he replied. "Shall we move on, then? If I can't talk, I might as well be walkin'."

Buffy gestured ahead of them with her arm. "Lead the way."

He raised his scarred eyebrow at that, but wisely said nothing as he started off again towards downtown. The Slayer wanted to talk to _him_ about her problems _and_ was handing control over their destination to him. Something was up. But he'd wanted company, so he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Buffy fell into step beside him once more, and together they made their way down the street.

TBC...


	3. Strange Confessions

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 3 – Strange Confessions**

"So, here's the thing," Buffy started after they'd walked a block in companionable silence. "The Hellmouth has been really, really quiet these past couple of weeks. Barely any vamps, no demons, no unexplained bizarre occurrences...it's seriously giving me the wig."

She paused at that and carefully considered what to say next. Spike was mercifully silent as she gathered her thoughts.

She cleared her throat. "And I know I shouldn't feel this way because, hey, I'm all on the side of good, here. Really, no evil monsters lurking in my town is all positive. It's just that...and I hate admitting this...I feel kinda...I don't know...useless. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think I know a thing or two abou' feelin' useless, Slayer," Spike replied ruefully.

"Yeah, I know. And I'm not bringing it up just to rub it in, I swear," Buffy reassured him.

And then she spared a thought for the 'why' of it. Why was she reassuring Spike that she hadn't meant to point out his inadequacies? It's not like she actually _cared_ if she hurt his feelings.

"'s ok, pet. Go on, what makes you feel useless?" he prodded.

"It's just...and I'm not sure how to explain this, or even if it makes much sense, but I feel like the part of me that's the Slayer is, I don't know, like always ready for a fight, kinda poised for attack, if you know what I mean. And it's like the more time goes by without me releasing the built up energy, the more anxious I become," she explained.

"Sounds to me like you jus' need to exhaust yourself," Spike pointed out. He bumped her gently with his shoulder, indicating that they should turn right onto Mayberry Street.

"Where are you going?" Buffy couldn't resist asking. She'd given up on her initial destination of the Bronze about ten minutes of conversation ago, so she didn't really care where they ended up, but she still wanted to be on her guard, just in case. She'd learned a long time ago not to get complacent in Spike's company, and even though they were currently having a normal, non-fighty discussion, she didn't trust him not to lead her into a situation she'd regret.

Although, with all the action Sunnydale was showing her so far this summer, at most they'd run into a catfight in front of the Espresso Pump.

Spike shrugged at her question. "No particular destination in mind. Is there somewhere you gotta be? Hot date with the soldier?"

"No, nowhere to be. I thought I'd maybe head to the Bronze, see if Willow or Xander was there, but I don't really feel like it anymore," she admitted. And, thought it pained her to say it, "and Riley isn't here; he went home for the summer."

Spike snorted. "Wanker left you all alone in this town for a couple of months? He's either really, really trustin', or he's takin' you for granted. And stupid."

"Hey!" Buffy pulled back and let a punch fly at his right shoulder. "That was totally uncalled for! And also, a really interesting case of the pot calling the kettle black. Isn't _your_ skank of an undead girlfriend currently discovering that romantic Parisian sunsets are no fun when you're a big pile of dust?"

"Harmony is _not_ my girlfriend!" Spike protested. "Yeah, I'll admit that she's a convenient shag, but she's also a bleedin' annonyin' bitch. If she hadn't buggered off to soddin' France, odds are I would've offed her myself by now."

"Charming."

"'s true," he insisted as he paused to light the cigarette he'd fished out of his duster's pocket. "Biggest mistake of my unlife was gettin' involved with the likes of her. She's like a bloody leech."

Buffy snorted. Sometimes she loved vampire humor, especially Spike's. His tongue could be as lethal as his fangs used to be when he put his mind to it.

"But I guess soldier boy's absence explains your whole 'poor me, there's nothing to kill' pathetic act," Spike surmised.

Buffy thought about that for a second. Despite Spike's awful attempt at imitating her voice, she couldn't for the life of her understand what he was referring to. So she decided on an eloquent "Huh?" as her reply.

"Your boy toy is out of town, therefore there's no one to shag your frustrations right ou' of you," Spike pointed out smugly. "Nothin' says relaxation like a good, hard, satisfyin' fuck."

"Eww, crude much?" Buffy scrunched up her nose and pushed at his shoulder in an attempt to hide the blush that had crept up her neck at Spike's raw words. Said in that voice. Coming for a man who, for all intents and purposes, was basically sex on legs. And did her mind really just go there? She suppressed a shiver.

"What, you're a blushin' virgin all of a sudden?" Spike taunted.

Ok, deflection time. "Oh, look, Revello Drive. Well, that's my street. I won't say that it was fun, but let's definitely not do this again."

"Slayer, wait! 'm sorry, ok?" He grabbed her arm, effectively stopping her retreat.

"Let. Me. Go." Buffy wrenched her arm out of his grasp and eyed him suspiciously. "Since when do you want to spend more time than absolutely necessary in my company? It's not like we're friends or anything. In fact, we're barely acquaintances. And we hate each other."

"With a bleedin' passion, I know."

"So, spill. Why are you acting all clingy? You're creeping me out."

Spike sighed, an indescribable look of, well, something, passing over his face before his expression hardened. "You know wha'? Forget it! I don' need this shite, not tonight, and not from the likes of you."

He whirled around in a blur of leather and stomped off.

Or at least he tried to, because this time it was her turn to grab his arm to stop him. He struggled briefly, then sighed and turned to face him, his face blank.

Now that she had him in her grasp, Buffy didn't know why she hadn't just let him go. As she had said, it wasn't like they were friends and she could feel guilty about forcing him to turn away. But, for just a moment, he had looked so bereft that even if this was Spike, she couldn't just have their evening together end on a sour note.

"Spike, what's going on?" Buffy asked gently, striving to change the uncomfortable mood that had sprung up between them.

Another sigh, this time accompanied by a pained look and a hand running through his hair, mussing up his carefully gelled locks. He shuffled his feet a bit, clearly uncomfortable, before clearing his throat. "'m lonely," he muttered, so softly she couldn't be sure she'd heard him right.

That surprised her. "You're lonely?" she parroted, hoping to prod him into elaborating.

It took him a minute, but he obliged. "Yeah, 'm lonely. Since you, we, whatever, got rid of Adam, 've been keepin' to myself, jus' sussin' some things out, yeah? An' now that 've made some sense of what went down, well Harmony's up and left, 'm not welcome at any of my regular haunts, and there are barely any demons left in town to put together a half decent poker game down at Willy's. There's nothing to fight, an' there's only so much readin' and drinkin' a bloke can do before goin' completely barmy!"

Wow. She'd had no idea he could feel this way. Or that he could read, apparently. Not that she cared, really, but loneliness was something she understood well. And beneath all his arrogant swagger and bluster, at the moment he wasn't all that different from her.

She let go of his arm and stuffed both hands into the pockets of her pants, suddenly unsure of how to talk to him. With Spike, it was usually simple: trade quips and insults, threaten with bodily harm, and, if all else failed, wave a stake or two in his direction. Repeat as necessary. But now, with him being all honest and open and – surprise – vulnerable, she didn't want to fall into their regular pattern. She kind of wanted to help.

Maybe. If he didn't open his big mouth and make her rethink their whole 'you don't kill me and mine, I don't stake you' arrangement.

"Listen, I know what you're going through," she started.

"Shyeah, like you could," Spike scoffed, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, mirroring her stance.

Great, he was going to make this difficult. "Really, I do. Two years ago, after we defeated Acathla and I sent Angel to Hell, I ran away. To L.A. Didn't tell anyone where I was going, not even Giles or my mom. And I spent months there, alone in a little apartment, not talking to anyone, just, well, existing I guess. It was the loneliest time of my life. So yeah, I kinda get how you feel. Just like you get how restless I am right now without something to kill."

"Vamps and Slayers, pet. Opposites, but not that different," Spike pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess, when you look at it that way. Or maybe it's just you and me, who knows?"

His gaze dropped to his boots at that. "Maybe," he admitted. "How about..." he trailed off.

"What?"

"Never mind, you'll think it's stupid," he replied without looking up.

"Spike, spill," she ordered. And then she couldn't resist taunting him. She pulled out her stake and made sure he saw it before teasing, "Don't make me stake it out of you."

He gave her a weak smile at that. "What would think of us helpin' each other out? We each got somethin' the other wants, yeah?"

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Buffy was intrigued despite herself. And suddenly irritated at the way her eyes lingered on his mouth as he said that last part. For despite all the crap he could spout at a moment's notice, he really had the most luscious lips...

"You wan' a fight, I wan' company. We could spar a couple of times a week, that way we both win," he suggested, distracting her from her oh-so-wrong lustful fantasies that really, she would swear came out of nowhere.

She dragged her eyes away from his mouth to meet his steady blue gaze and quirked an eyebrow. "Could you spar with me? Wouldn't the chip go off?"

"I don' know," he admitted. "Prolly, but we could try with you attackin' and me blockin', or somethin'. We could meet at Restfield tomorrow night and give it a go," he offered hopefully.

"But wouldn't that defeat the purpose of me being the Slayer? You, the self-proclaimed, and I use this term loosely, 'Big Bad', would be getting an all-access pass to check out my moves?"

"Now, I'm not suggestin' you get complacent about your Calling just to entertain me, 'cause you know 'm just goin' to take advantage of it to do somethin' evil," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "But jus' consider it, yeah? Might be I could show you a thing or two."

"Yeah, right," Buffy scoffed. But she was seriously considering taking him up on his offer. 'Cause Riley was the only one of the Scoobies who could come close to providing any kind of challenge when she trained, and even he was no match for her, even when she was holding back. Oh right, and he was in fucking _Iowa_ for the summer. But Spike, even hampered by the chip, was an incredibly strong opponent – and a real pleasure to fight. He was crafty, wily, graceful...his smaller stature worked in his favor, whereas Riley's bulk was often his undoing, especially against her.

And Spike was gorgeous when he fought. Those intense eyes, whether human blue or vampire amber, the lean muscles showcased by tight cotton and denim, his smooth moves...

Which was majorly of the bad, because training, sparring, fighting, killing...well, they got her all worked up. Not a problem when she could release the sexual tension afterwards with Riley, but with Spike...

No, her mind was _so_ not going there.

"I'll think about it," she finally blurted out. "It's getting late, and I promised Mom I'd be home reasonably early tonight. How about we meet around ten tomorrow night near your crypt? I'll let you know then if I think it's a good idea."

Spike cocked his scarred eyebrow. "That's the only crumb 'm gonna get tonight, luv?"

"Take it or leave it, Spike, I don't care," Buffy exclaimed, finally exasperated with him. "Ten. Tomorrow night. Wear something appropriate for an ass-kicking."

"See you then, pet." And with that and a sardonic wave, he was gone, leaving Buffy alone on the corner of her street, wondering what the hell she'd just gotten herself into.

**TBC...**


	4. Advice, from an Unlikely Source

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 4 – Advice, from an Unlikely Source**

"Wanker!" Spike muttered as soon as he was sure he was out of the Slayer's earshot. "Stupid, bloody, useless, pathetic wanker!"

Well, what had jus transpired could truly be considered a new low for him. Which was saying quite a lot, if he considered the spectacular number of low points his unlife had seen so far.

What the _hell_ had he been thinking, admitting his loneliness to the Slayer, of all people?

"I'm lonely," he mocked himself, kicking a trash can out of his way. "Why don' I just offer to hold up a bull's-eye to my unbeating heart while she plunges her stake in my chest?"

Really, the humiliation of assisting in his own murder would surely be less than that of blabbing to his mortal enemy that he was so starved for company he'd force himself on her in order to be entertained for the evening. He was _such_ a git.

Such a lonely git.

Up until roughly a year and a half ago, he'd never been alone. In the beginning, he'd had his family – no matter how much he'd hated Peaches and his whore – and then it'd been just him and Dru. For almost a hundred and twenty years, he'd been part of something.

Then everything had gone arse over tit because of one sodding truce with another bird. Drusilla and him were through, which had led him, in a meandering path, back to the Hellmouth and all the shite that had befallen him ever since.

And now, to be reduced to oh-so-casually suggesting that the Slayer and he _hang out together_? Ostensibly so she could get her violence on, but really, deep down, because he had seen an opening and grasped it with both hands: she was restless and antsy too, she needed to fight, and she was for once not kicking him away.

Because hate her as he might, she wasn't the worst company he could keep.

She could be a bitch and she could be ornery as hell, but he was far from blind and she was a right gorgeous bint. All golden hair and smooth skin and lithe, muscular limbs. A real pleasure to look at, she was. Soldier Boy didn't know what he'd left behind in Sunnydale, because if he truly did, he'd have never let her out of his sight.

Wait a minute...

As Spike continued his aimless wandering through Sunnydale's eerily tranquil streets, an idea took shape. It wasn't a particularly good one; it was risky, and he was pretty sure it was stupid as hell, but hey, at least it had the added bonus of being evil. He was lonely and jonesing for a shag, and he now knew that the Slayer wasn't getting any action other than what her right hand could provide – which he doubted she indulged in, she looked much too uptight to resort to self-gratification. Maybe a little forced seduction would be an interesting way to occupy his short summer nights.

He could see it now, the fun he'd have corrupting Buffy. It wouldn't be easy, but since when was anything worth having simple to come by? The Slayer would be difficult to convince, hell, he'd probably have to stoop to some hard core wooing, but he was sure the end result would be worth it. A strong, flexible chit like her would be an interesting bed partner, he'd be willing to bet his telly and VCR on it.

And the best part? Watching her face when he dumped her once he decided it was over. Oh yeah, once he was done with her, she'd be ruined for any other man, especially her stupid sod of a boyfriend.

His summer plan thought up, if not well developed yet, Spike decided to head back to his crypt. There was much to plan before their scheduled rendezvous.

Because tomorrow night he had a date with the Slayer.

--

Buffy eased open the front door and quietly slipped inside. The hinges had been making a funny squeaking noise in the past few days, and she didn't want to wake her mom. But if she happened to be awake...there was something she would like to talk to her about.

She therefore slammed the door with just a _little_ more force than was strictly necessary.

"Buffy, is that you?"

Jackpot!

Joyce came wandering out of the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She was clearly dressed for bed.

"Mom, hi, sorry about the door," Buffy tried to sound apologetic, really, she did, but she _really_ needed her mom's input on her beyond bizarre evening with Spike.

"No, it's ok. I couldn't sleep, so I came back down to finish today's, or rather yesterday's, crossword puzzle," Joyce reassured her.

Buffy walked past her mother into the kitchen and headed straight for the fridge. Post patrol hunger pangs were alive and kicking, even if all her night had amounted to was bantering with the Bleached Wonder.

"How's it working out for you?" she asked over her shoulder before diving headfirst into the cheese drawer.

"Not bad, I still need a five letter word for 'involvement or interest'," Joyce answered as she wandered back into the kitchen and leaning against the counter.

"Hmm, any hints?"

"First letter is 's', and it ends with an 'e'."

Buffy pondered this as she took out a knife to cut a few pieces of cheddar to go with the crackers she'd fished out of the cupboard. Five letter word, started with 's', synonym for involvement...

"Ooh, ooh, it's 'stake'!" she exclaimed proudly.

Joyce reached for her pencil to insert Buffy's suggestion into the grid. "It works! Thanks, honey."

"Finally, my slaying makes a useful crossover into everyday life," Buffy joked.

"How was patrol tonight? Still quiet?" Joyce asked.

"_So_ quiet. It's like evil got a last minute deal on an all-inclusive to Club Med and forgot to invite me," Buffy grumped.

Joyce looked surprised. "But, isn't that a good thing?"

"In theory, yes. But, Mom, it's so boring...there's nothing to fight," Buffy whined before popping cheese-covered salty goodness into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed before continuing. "I was actually reduced to spending the evening with Spike!"

There, that was a subtle segue, if she did say so herself. For some reason, her mom actually _liked_ the blond vampire. And since Buffy was feeling conflicted about agreeing to see him tomorrow night, or later today as it were, she figured her mom would be the voice of reason in this particular dilemma.

"Oh, how is Spike? I haven't seen him in awhile," Joyce said. "He's such a nice young man; you should invite him over some time."

Was her mom for real? "Mom, you do get that Spike is a vampire, right? He's neither young, nor a man."

"Well, he looks young," Joyce defended. "It's easier for me to think of him as just another of your friends, but with a weird diet."

"Spike is _not_ my friend," Buffy protested. "He's an annoyance, a pest, a knat!"

"Well, that doesn't make him any less fun to look at," Joyce pointed out coyly.

"Mom! You did _not_ just say that!"

"What, you disagree?"

Buffy didn't answer, choosing instead to reach back into to the fridge for some juice to wash down her snack. It gave her time to ponder the strange, icky feeling in her stomach at her mother's words. So Joyce thought Spike was handsome, what of it? He was indeed a fine specimen, not even Buffy was going to deny it.

"I mean, he's got sort of a dangerous appeal," Joyce continued, oblivious to Buffy's discomfort. "All that leather, the black clothes, that dashing scar in his eyebrow..."

"Mom, if you even dare utter the word 'dreamy,' I'm out of here!" Buffy warned.

Joyce smiled softly at her daughter. "I'm just saying that Spike is very attractive. Looking at him is not the worse way you could spend an evening."

"But he's obnoxious and snarky and keeps making these disturbing suggestive comments! Like, I really don't need him reminding me that Riley is not here and that fighting makes me..." Buffy trailed off, remembering at the last possible millisecond exactly whom she was having a conversation with. She loved her mom, but there were some things that she would just not discuss with her. Ever. "...hungry," she finished lamely, holding up her glass of juice to prove her point.

"Well, I think you should spend time with him. Riley's not around to patrol with you, having Spike around can only help you out," Joyce pointed out.

"Ok, first of all, I don't need anyone to patrol with me! Slayer here, remember? And Spike is not 'help.' He basically just annoys me. And hey, why does it sound like you're suggesting that since Riley isn't around, I should, like, date Spike?" Buffy asked accusingly. She was becoming miffed at her mom, conveniently pushing aside the thought that she'd wanted her opinion on Spike's suggestion in the first place.

Joyce looked shocked at her outburst. "Buffy, I didn't say that! I just think that spending time with Spike could be fun, maybe. He's quite interesting once you get to know him. He's traveled all over the world –"

"No doubt seriously putting a dent in population growth while he was at it," Buffy grumbled under her breath.

"– and has seen so much," Joyce continued as if Buffy hadn't interrupted her. "He's great company!"

"Yeah, well, he wants to be great company for your only daughter tomorrow night," Buffy said. "Or tonight, if you want to get technical about it."

Joyce leaned forward over the kitchen island with a twinkle Buffy wasn't sure she liked in her eye. "What will you be doing? Dinner and a movie?"

"Funny, Mom. Remember Riley, my boyfriend? Whom I believe you referred to yourself not a minute ago? I don't think my having date-like fun with Spike was what he had in mind when he left for Iowa," Buffy paused as something occurred to her. "Did he call, by the way?"

"Who, Spike?" Joyce teased.

At that, Buffy slammed her hand down on the counter. "Not. Funny. You know I meant Riley."

"Not that I'm aware of, sweetie. Were you expecting him to?" Joyce asked.

Buffy pondered the question for a moment. They'd promise to call and write and stuff, but no firm plans had been made, which was weird if she stopped to consider it. And what was slightly more wigsome was that she hadn't even thought of obsessively checking their answering machine for messages since he'd left. She must be _really_ off her dating game.

"Well, kinda, I guess," Buffy finally settled on. "I mean, he will be gone until August, and he's supposedly going to miss me. And I can't imagine that there's that much to do in Hicksville, Iowa."

"You should call him. As long as you keep it short, I don't mind," Joyce offered.

_Uh-oh_, Buffy treated herself to an internal wince. She was beyond embarrassed to admit that she hadn't thought to ask Riley for the number where he'd be. "Mom, come on. He's the one who left me all by my lonesome for the summer, he can be the one to foot the monstrous long distance phone bill."

"Ok, Buffy. But in the meantime, I think you should spend some time with Spike. I've seen him a couple of times around town lately, and he looks like he could use a friend."

"Mom, are we going to have to review the logistics of the Slayer-Vampire relationship again? Because Spike and I are not destined to be bosom buddies. We're enemies. Mortal enemies. As in we want to kill each other badly and in very violently messy ways."

Joyce held up her hands. "Ok, I get it. But I think you should consider it. He can't hurt you and you seem bored. Maybe you could, I don't know, train with him, or something. You could pretend – and I stress my use of the word 'pretend' – that he's an evil demon you have to slay. He could help you stay alert for when the real bad guys get back from their all-inclusive and you're busy again."

And _that_ was why Buffy sometimes sought out her mom's opinion and advice about difficult situations. She always unknowingly came around to Buffy's way of thinking.

She sighed and schooled her features into her best put-upon expression. "You're right, Mom. I'll go out tomorrow and see if maybe we can spar or something."

Joyce smiled softly at her. "Thank you, Buffy. And tell him I say 'hi' and that he can stop by anytime," she requested before covering her mouth with her hand to hide a yawn. "Well, I'm heading up to bed. Don't stay up too late."

And with a kiss on the cheek and a last smile before leaving the kitchen, her mom was gone. Which left Buffy all alone with her thoughts and an empty juice glass that needed rinsing.

So, it was settled. Her, Spike, a cemetery, and some good old-fashioned sparring. _Thank you, Mom_, Buffy thought before heading upstairs herself to get ready for bed. _Way to guilt me into doing what I kinda, maybe wanted to do anyway. Or not. We'll see._

**TBC...**


	5. First Fight

A/N: Here is where the story picks up; the previous four chapters established the groundwork for what I guess I can call Act II. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review so far. It is very appreciated – and motivating!

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 5 – First Fight**

_Yup_, Buffy thought to herself as she strolled towards Restfield Cemetery the following evening. _Today was a good day_.

It had been one of her days off at the gallery, so she'd dragged Willow and Tara to the mall and proceeded to spend a good chunk of her hard earned cash. She'd found the cutest wedge sandals, casual enough for jeans but also good with a dress or skirt, and comfortable enough for hours at The Bonze followed by intense slayage. She also stumbled upon a two-for-one deal on yoga pants, and what kind of Slayer would she be if she turned down _that_ deal? Black, deep blue, charcoal, light grey, long, cropped, loose, tight, stretchy, with pockets, low rise...she'd gone a little crazy, but maybe this time, what with all the intense quiet going around lately, she'd be able to make this latest batch last until at least October.

The only damper to be had was the major uncertainty she still had going on towards her ten o'clock meeting – not date! – with Spike. But the Caramel Frappuccino she was currently slurping the dregs of had gone a long way towards making her feel better about kicking his ass in a controlled, spar-happy setting.

As she crossed the gate to the cemetery, she mentally selected a few moves to try out on Spike. Punches and weaves she was sure he hadn't seen from her yet, and maybe that new kick she'd been pondering last night. Comfy, stretchy yoga pants would make it seem effortless. Spike wouldn't know what had hit – or kicked – him.

She paused next to Donald Maxwell's grave marker – _1960 to 1991, short life to live_, Buffy thought with a pang of sadness – as she caught sight of a familiar flash of platinum in the distance. Spike was leaning against a stone statue, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the night sky. She felt a jolt of awareness course through her and her Mom's words came back to her, _"he's got a sort of dangerous appeal,"_ and she had to admit, to herself, almost reluctantly, that Joyce was right. Objectively speaking, Spike was hot. If he were human, she could see herself being attracted to him. Very attracted. And maybe even having the guts to act on her attraction.

And then she was all business again as something occurred to her as she watched him bring the cigarette to his lips and inhale. Spike was a lefty.

Which in itself was not much of a problem; she was used to sparring with Giles, who was also a southpaw, but it didn't help her much in a real fight. From her first semester psych class, before Professor Walsh went all insano power trippy, she had learned that roughly 10 percent of the adult population was left handed. Buffy had thus deduced, rightfully or not, that 90 percent of the demon population was right handed, giving her a bizarre disadvantage – that she was nonetheless quick to overcome in any fight – since she was so used to learning new moves and polishing old ones against a left-handed, well, 'opponent' for lack of a better word to describe Giles.

Oh well, she figured as she started moving again, if a left-handed adversary was all she was destined to get tonight, she might as well make the best of it. And since Spike _could_ fight demons, maybe they could figure out a way to work their different strong sides into an advantage or something.

"Oi, Slayer, hurry up will you? 'm not gettin' any younger here," Spike bellowed out as he caught sight of her making her way towards him.

"Spike," she whisper-hissed back at him, knowing very well that his enhanced senses would allow him to hear her despite the remaining distance that still separated them. "You yelling at me is doing nothing to ensure that whatever evil thing could hypothetically be out here sticks around to die!"

She was now close enough to see the smirk on his face as he crushed his half finished cigarette beneath his boot and pushed off from the statue to saunter over to meet her. "I didn' think you'd actually show, Slayer."

"Yeah, well my Mom made me, so don't go thinking I'm here for your sparkling personality," Buffy retorted, suddenly irritated with his lack of faith in her willingness to kick his ass.

Spike snorted at that. "Your Mum made you? That's rich, Slayer. I don' whether to be insulted or hurt," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at her.

"Whatever, Spike, the important thing is that I'm here now, right? So let's make with the fighty, shall we?"

"Not so fast. Where's mine?"

Now it was Buffy's turn to cock her head at him. "Huh? Where's your what?"

Spike pointed at the now empty plastic Starbucks cup in her hand. "My disgustin' coffee beverage. I'm particularly fond of the whipped cream and caramel they put on top."

Buffy treated him to one of her patented Slayer glares, the one she used to instill fear in her particularly difficult soon to be victims. "You can't be serious! You expected me to bring you what, a treat, as if we're actually friends hanging out?"

Spike had the gall to look hurt at that. "Well, yeah. I thought we'd established yesterday that we'd be meetin' tonight to see if we could spar without my brain gettin' all scrambled and such. I figured that meant we were going to at least _pretend_ that we don' hate each other for a few hours."

God, Spike could be so irritating sometimes! Buffy was half convinced he was only goading her into a fight... "Ok, fine," she ground out as she tossed the cup on the ground and raised her fists in a fighter's stance. "You want to see what we can do? Bring it on," she invited with a quirked eyebrow.

"Thought you'd never ask," Spike retorted. And then he struck.

Buffy effortlessly blocked the punch he'd aimed at her nose. "So," she started as she retaliated with a push kick to his stomach, which he slapped away before she could do more than move him back a couple of inches. "How do you want to do this?"

"You," he started as he swung his left fist in a hook towards her chin, "come at me full force," he continued as he came back from his missed move with an uppercut that she easily moved back from, "and I," he added as he transformed the momentum into a spinning back kick that allowed her to grab his ankle and spin him to the ground, where he landed on his back, "take it and try not to get fried."

Buffy stood above him with crossed arms, tapping her foot. "And how's that working out for you so far?"

"Oi, I was just testin' you there," he protested as he kipped to his feet.

"Ok then, whatever you say. Hey," Buffy exclaimed with a frown, as something occurred to her. "You just swung at me, like, four times and look at you, all with the not clutching your head in pain. What's up with that?"

"It's all in the intent, pet," Spike replied as he stuck his hands in his duster's pockets and rocked back on his heals. "That, right there? There was no intention to hurt you in any way. The chip sensed it and didn' go off." He smirked then. "As long as you don' piss me off too badly, as you're prone to do, 'll be fine."

"Whatever, Spike. Less talky, more fighty," she requested as she came at him in a flying front kick.

And they were off. Buffy reveled in the exhilaration she could feel coursing through her as she struck and parried with Spike. She'd forgotten how agile he could be, how quick he was. And how much fun going full out against him, how much of a rush it was. Where Riley was all military precision and well thought out techniques, Spike was graceful and imaginative. His moves were smooth and almost flawless after more than a century spent perfecting them.

However, the key word here was 'almost.'

As she had before, she grabbed his ankle on one of his kicks and spun him to the ground. This time, he landed on his stomach with an unnecessary "oomph" expulsing air from his dead lungs.

Before he could jump back to his feet, she was on him, straddling his butt and pressing the tip of the stake she'd pulled from the small of her back between his shoulder blades.

"Buffy – 1, Spike – 0, wouldn't you say, Bleached Wonder?" Buffy leaned over to whisper teasingly in his ear, careful not to put any pressure on the stake. She stayed where she was as she waited for his no doubt pissy reply.

Mistake.

Spike started to wriggle beneath her in an attempt to throw her off. Unfortunately for Buffy, her position practically sprawled atop his back allowed the movements of his lean hips to grind the firm globes of his ass into her clit. Almost despite herself, she ground back into him – _to keep him from throwing me off_, she told herself as she bit back a moan.

"Lemme up, you bloody bint!" Spike growled as he bucked up into her.

She clamped her thighs down harder on his hips and tossed her stake aside to brace her arms against the ground in order to try to prolong his thrusting. The more she resisted his attempts to toss her off, the harder she pressed into him, rubbing her now aching clit into him on each upstroke and pushing aside the little voice in her head asking her _what the hell she was doing!?_

She was quickly approaching the point of no return and panting up a storm when Spike seemed to sense her, ahem, _distraction_ and, with a particularly violent thrust upwards combined with a cunning twist of his hips, managed to unseat her and jump to his feet.

Buffy landed on her butt in the grass and struggled to catch her breath. Trying to stay perched on a bucking vampire sure took a lot out of a girl! And the irritating throb in her clit – which didn't seem to want to abate now that the outside source stimulating it was gone – was causing involuntary moans to escape her lips.

"Wha' was that all about, Slayer?" Spike demanded as he clutched his head. "You made me set the chip off with your little show of dominance! Bloody hell, it hurts!"

Buffy could feel her cheeks flame in embarrassment. She got to her feet and brushed imaginary grass of the seat of her pants, trying to hide how unsteady her legs were. _I must really miss Riley_, she tried to rationalize. _No way in hell would I have let myself get carried away like that with_ Spike_if I weren't..._

She couldn't even finish her thought. Riley had been gone for _four_ days and already she was grinding her womanly bits on another man – _vampire!_ – as if her actions would have no consequences. _Big Ol' Slut, thy name is Buffy._

She took a deep breath and hoped that Spike's head pain would allow her to slip away unnoticed. She suddenly needed out of Restfield Cemetery, like, yesterday and didn't want to have to explain anything to him.

So with a final glance at the blond vampire still clutching his head and muttering curse words – no doubt aimed at her – Buffy took off in a run towards the gates, never once looking back.

**TBC...**


	6. Aftermath

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 6 – Aftermath**

"Bloody buggerin' fuck!" Spike muttered as he rubbed his head in a misguided attempt to stop the pain. "Slayer, you're goin' to pay for that," he threatened, finally mustering the strength to lift his aching noggin to treat the Slayer with his best glare.

But she was nowhere to be seen.

"Slayer!" he bellowed. "Where the bloody hell are you, you miserable bint?"

Ow. _Note to self_, Spike thought ruefully. _Loud noises hurt._

She was gone, that much he could tell. He couldn't feel her anywhere.

Spike cautiously sniffed the air, trying to scent her out, to discover in which direction she could've gone. He closed his eyes and concentrated, bringing to mind the musk he associated with this particular Slayer. The underlying stench of decay he knew as unique to Restfield Cemetery was the first thing he detected, but a lingering scent he couldn't quite identify battled it for supremacy. If he focused his aching brain on the task, he could just make it out...

"Bloody hell!" he couldn't help exclaiming when it hit him. That scent – that glorious odor teasing his sensitive nose – was arousal. And since the only person who'd been in the area recently besides him was...

Buffy.

Well, this was interesting. A thought his rapidly hardening cock heartily agreed with.

Based on this new – and delicious – information, he wouldn't have to work too hard to implement his hastily developed 'seduce the Slayer' plan. It seemed little Buffy's show of superiority had turned her on.

And embarrassed her, if one was to consider the fact that she had hightailed it out of Restfield without so much as a goodbye.

As the ache in his head slowly became manageable, Spike picked up Buffy's discarded plastic cup – evil or not, he saw no sense in littering his backyard – and slowly made his way back to his crypt.

Massive amounts of alcohol, an amendment to his plan, and, possibly, a wank were in order.

--

_I am such a slut_, Buffy raged as she threw herself face down on her bed. _Not only did I go all 'big ho' on Spike's ass – literally! – but now I can't stop thinking about it!_

Buffy was _not_ happy. She was upset – to put it mildly – with herself, with Riley, with her mom... the only person she couldn't find it in herself to be mad at was Spike, despite the fact that he was, well, the only evil, soulless one of the bunch. He had obviously been really pissed at her for pushing him to the point where he made his chip go off, because that was totally her fault. He'd told her to get off – _no, Buffy, don't go there!_ – and she'd continued to grind against him like a depraved hobiscuit.

All that was left for her to do at this point was to pray that Spike hadn't noticed. A long shot, since he was oddly perceptive at the worst possible times, but maybe, just maybe, she'd get lucky this once and his vampiric sensitivities happened to be on holiday while she partook in the pleasures of his flesh...

Ugh. What was wrong with her? It's not like she hadn't made love with Riley the day before he left. Ok, so she hadn't come – not even a teensy bit – but still! It had been nice and should have satisfied her. It's not like she was really all about the sex, anyway. If her relationship with Angel had taught her anything, it was that it was fully possible to enjoy a deep, meaningful connection with another person without an intense physical relationship.

But damn, Spike had felt so good! All hard and strong beneath her, muscles staining and twisting as he'd tried to get free from her grip on his hips...

Buffy flopped onto her back and let her eyes drift shut. Of their own volition, her traitorous thoughts began tearing apart what had actually happened and reshaping it into what _could have_ happened...

_Before he could jump back to his feet, she was on him, straddling his butt and pressing the tip of the stake she'd pulled from the small of her back between his shoulder blades._

"_Buffy – 1, Spike – 0, wouldn't you say, Bleached Wonder?" Buffy leaned over to whisper teasingly in his ear, careful not to put any pressure on the stake._

"_Why, Slayer, I didn' think we were keepin' score," Spike drawled. "In that case..."_

_That was all the warning she'd get. He bucked up his hips and twisted, throwing her off. With a burst of vampiric speed, he pounced on her where she lay on her back. A strange, romantic mist covered the grass she now lay on and, somehow, her camisole's right spaghetti strap had slid down her shoulder between the time she'd been airborne and when she'd landed. She lay there, panting, with his weight pining her into the ground._

"_I'd say we're now even at 1-1, wouldn' you say, pet?" Spike asked, cocky smirk in place. To add insult to injury, he lightly ground his burgeoning erection into her core._

"_Spike!" she protested, making a token attempt to push him off while rubbing her aching clit on his cock. "Get off of me!"_

"_Get off on you? Well, Slayer, I didn't think you cared," Spike replied. He bent down to lick his way from her collarbone to that sensitive spot beneath her ear. "I can make it _so_ good for you..." he promised as his hand crept up her thigh and moved beneath her skirt, fingers lightly dancing across her skin towards her..._

Ok, where did the skirt come from? She'd been wearing – still was, in fact – yoga pants!

Buffy sat up on her bed and shook her head in a misguided attempt to clear it of all Spike-related thoughts. There was something massively wrong with her if, in the space of twenty-four hours, she went from mildly tolerating Spike to having fairly wigsome reluctant, yet cheesy, fantasies about him.

Never one to dwell on thoughts that confused or bothered her, Buffy reached a decision. She would write a letter to Riley. Just 'cause she didn't have his phone number in Wherever, Iowa didn't mean she couldn't be all concerned, loving girlfriend and write him a romantic little note. In fact, hadn't Giles complained not too long ago that the increasing popularity of email would be the death of the proper written word? Well, she'd _so_ prove him wrong!

One love letter to her absentee boyfriend coming up!

Right after that cold shower she'd been meaning to look into.

--

By the time he'd walked the short distance back to his crypt, Spike's head was feeling marginally better. He'd still be consuming at least one bottle of whiskey, just to be sure, but the lingering need to give back to the Slayer as good as he'd got was waning.

In fact, he'd had a revelation.

There would be no forced seduction to relieve his loneliness. No wooing, no romancing, no reluctant calling on the remnants of his poncier side to attract the Slayer.

No, there would be nothing 'forced' about it. If Spike's nose was telling the truth, Buffy would be falling into his waiting arms all on her own. He would just have to be patient and try to goad her into a repeat performance of tonight.

Sure, she'd need a couple of days to cool down – he wasn't daft enough to think that she wouldn't pop him one in the nose tomorrow on principle alone. But once she'd come to her senses and realized that she needed him for the release of all her excess energy as much as he needed her to ward off his boredom, she'd be back. And he'd be waiting.

But in the meantime, he now had almost an entire night to kill.

And it was only 10:30.

Bugger.

--

_Dear Riley,_

_Well, you're not missing much in dear old Sunnydale. No demons, boring patrols, and not much to do. I hung out with Willow and Tara today... we went to the mall! I bought the cutest shoes and a boatload of yoga pants to wear on patrol. My old pairs were getting kinda grungy._

_I hope you're having a good time back home. It must be nice to see your friends and family again! Try not to 'psych 101' them to much, ok?_

_I've got work with Mom tomorrow, and then maybe I'll catch an aerobics class. The gym that just opened near the Espresso Pump is holding an open house in the evening, and who am I to say no to a free step class? Might be a nice change from weapons training and target practice with Giles!_

_Anyway, take care. I miss you._

_Buffy_

--

_There_, Buffy thought as she sealed the envelope. _Girlfriend duty? Done!_

Now off to bed. As long as her dreams didn't betray her with images of an annoying blond vampire, she should be fine.

**TBC...**


	7. The Other Someone's Plan

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 7 – The Other Someone's Plan**

_La nuit porte conseil_ – so say the French. Buffy might have sucked at the language in high school, but she knew enough to figure out that it meant 'nighttime brings advice.' And the night _had_ brought insight, at least a little bit.

This morning upon waking, she had decided that her temporary insanity where Spike's body was concerned was nothing but a blip. An easily ignorable, meaningless blip. So what if he was pretty, dangerous, and hard in all the right places? She had a boyfriend, damn it! A solicitous, loyal, loving boyfriend, who deserved better than a girlfriend who tried to rub herself to orgasm on a vampire not four days after he had left town.

So her grand 'forget about Spike's firm ass and lean hips' scheme was to work herself ragged during her afternoon shift at the gallery – heavy lifting galore! – and then hit the town's new gym's open house, as she'd written to Riley the previous night. Nothing said exhaustion-induced amnesia like lugging heavy boxes and back-to-back free aerobics classes!

Hopefully after that she could head straight home without running into the object of her disturbing affections and thus reboot her regular work-slay-sleep pattern. Because after last night, there was no way in hell she was going to even attempt to spar with Spike again.

Which was too bad, because she'd been having a blast before she'd gone and dry humped his butt like a sex-starved maniac. Trading insults and punches with Spike was always such a blast**,** and she _really_ needed the excitement. He was right; on that level, they were the same. They needed the adrenaline rush of a good fight in order for their lives as warriors of the night to make sense. Violence against evil beasties was her calling, and the only violence Spike could indulge in, so the sheer absence of it so far this summer was driving them both up the wall.

Although... maybe she was approaching this all backwards. What if avoiding Spike only made her want him more? What if she ended up spending all her free time polishing up the fantasy in her mind to the point where she _craved_ him? At this point, she hadn't even made it past Spike's fingers gliding up her thigh under her skirt – 'cause she'd decided to just forgo the yoga pants in her daydreams – but what would happen when her fertile imagination took her further? What would happen if she eventually found herself confusing fantasy with real life?

Therefore, maybe it would make sense to seek him out tonight. Since he usually sparked feelings of annoyance and disgust in her, and her bizarre attempt to ride his ass into orgasm was most definitely a one time thing, maybe seeing him would inspire her oh-so-wrong lusty thoughts to pack a bag and decamp from her brain.

But what if running into him did nothing but embarrass her? There was no proof that he'd noticed anything was amiss last night before she ran off. He'd been clutching his head in pain and cursing up a storm. Even horny, suggestion-prone vampires went a bit oblivious when excruciating pain distracted them, right?

_Ugh, enough!_ Buffy took a deep breath and ordered herself to stop thinking about 'what ifs' where Spike was concerned. She had nothing to gain by driving herself crazy about last night's indiscretion. She could be the Queen of denial when she put her mind to it, and this awkward – at least for her – situation warranted the best denial-ing she could commit to.

So, plan for the day: shower, breakfast/lunch, gallery, gym, home. She'd be so busy that Spike wouldn't even be on her radar!

--

The sun had set over Sunnydale, and Buffy was feeling quite proud of herself. Back-breaking storeroom duty at the gallery? Check! Not one, but _two_ free aerobics classes at the town's new gym? Check! Keeping thoughts of Spike down to a bare minimum? Check... ish.

By her calculations, she hadn't thought of him more than she regularly did on any given day. It's just that the quality of said thoughts had... shifted somewhat. Away from 'evil, soulless, dead thing I should really, really kill' and more into the wrong-side-of-the-tracks neighborhood of 'evil, soulless, drop-dead gorgeous vampire that I want to press up against a wall and lick all over.' Because of course, despite her best intentions, the fantasy had evolved during the day.

Which was _so_ not of the good. But thoughts were just thoughts until they became actions, right?

"That was fun, wasn't it? What an interesting way to pass the time, hopping up and down from a fake plastic step while moving our bodies in ways in which they were not designed to move."

Buffy had run to Anya at Sunnydale's Other Gym's open house and she could only assume that her Spike lickage fantasies were directly derived from listening to Anya go on and on and on _and on_ about how she'd read in Cosmo that being in better shape would increase the frequency and intensity of her orgasms. How could any girl _not_ think of a hot guy when one of her sorta friends was explaining the importance of Kegels for a girl's satisfaction?

And Buffy was so _not_ going to spend time pondering the fact that her polite, courteous, and living boyfriend was not front and center in her imagination during Anya's prattling. No way. Not going there.

"Buffy, can I ask you an orgasm-related question?" Anya queried as she and Buffy walked away from the gym. Both girls were sweaty and tired from their class – classes, in Buffy's case.

"I'd really rather you didn't," was Buffy's tense reply. Considering the fact that most of her orgasms in the past couple of months had been hand delivered...

"Does Riley," Anya started, despite Buffy's refusal, "have a special move that's guaranteed to give

you orgasms? Because Xander and I have decided to open ourselves up to experimentation with different techniques."

"Ok, eww... that's really more than I needed to know."

Anya decided to try another tact apparently, because she pressed on. "Buffy, Xander is your friend. Don't you want to do your part to ensure that he be as happy as possible? And me being sexually satisfied goes a long way towards Xander's happiness."

"I'm sure you're, uh, right about that, Anya. But I really don't feel comfortable discussing my sex life with you," Buffy admitted.

"Oh," Anya said, obviously disappointed.

"Don't take is personally," Buffy was quick to try to reassure her. "I don't even feel comfortable discussing it with Willow and she's been my best friend for _years_." Sensing that mentioning Willow did little to make Anya feel less rebuffed, she added, "but I'd be glad to walk you home, if you want."

Anya brightened immediately. "Oh, thank you! An attractive girl such as myself can never be too safe after dark in this town."

"Uh, my pleasure."

They walked for a few minutes in awkward silence. Buffy was lost in her own thoughts. She'd deliberately left her stakes at home in an attempt to tempt fate into sending one or two vamps her way. So far, no such luck. Not even a teeny, faint tingle was to be felt.

She tried to ignore her disappointed inner voice that whined _but that means Spike isn't around either!_ And then it had the gall to stamp its foot!

"Do you miss Riley?"

"Huh?" Buffy was jerked out of her thoughts by Anya's question.

"I mean, he's been gone for almost a week now. And you know he's not going to be back for a while. How does that feel?" Anya clarified.

_Like I wish he'd come back post haste so I can stop fantasizing about doing dirty things to Spike and concentrate on my caring, wholesome, affectionate boyfriend._

"Like I hope he's having a good time with his family and I wish he was here." There, safe answer.

"Oh."

"What do you mean, 'oh'?" Buffy asked, suspicious.

"It's just that if it were Xander who was gone for weeks and weeks, I'd be miserable from missing him," Anya answered. "I can barely go twenty-four hours without wanting to jump him, so I can't imagine being as calm as you are about Riley being too far away to have sex with you. Unless you're having phone sex."

"I'm not calm!" Buffy protested, choosing to ignore that last part. "I really miss Riley. It just, um, hasn't really sunk in yet that he's gone. And I've been _so_ busy with, you know, slaying and work and stuff... Hey, isn't this your place already?"

Anya stopped at the walkway leading to the door and turned to face Buffy, hand on her hip. "Thank you for walking me home. And I know you and I are not as close as you and Willow, but I do like to think that I can be pretty observant. And right now, I don't see a girl who misses her boyfriend's sexual talents. That could be a sign that he's not right for you."

Buffy just stared at her. Ok, that was beyond blunt, even for Anya. And oddly perceptive, especially for Anya.

"Well, goodnight!" Anya said brightly before spinning on her heel and heading for the front door.

"Bye," Buffy offered halfheartedly, her mind already miles away. She started back in the direction from which they'd came; time to go home, shower, and turn in early for a good night's rest.

Or maybe not, if the sudden chill on the back of her neck was what she thought it was...

She spun around, casting her Slayer senses about excitedly as she dropped her gym bag on the pavement. Could it really be? Dare she dream? Was there really a vampire in her general vicinity? She'd have to go old fashioned on it and aim for decapitation with her bare hands, but she was game.

Now, to draw it out.

"Oh, no, silly me," Buffy play-acted in a sing-song voice. "I seem to have lost my way home. I guess I'll just wander these dark, empty streets alone until I find my street."

"'s really sad the way the lack of nasties to fight has negatively affected your quips, Slayer."

Oh no. There was only one vampire in town with that particular bone-melting British accent.

"Spike, hi!" Buffy fake-smiled at him as he stepped out from behind a tree. "I was just heading... somewhere that isn't here." She was relieved to note that her legs were only _slightly_ turning to jelly at the sight of him.

"So soon, pet? But the night has barely started. What do you say we head over to..." Spike trailed off, suddenly waving his hand in front of his nose. "Bloody hell, what is that stench?"

"Huh? What are you talking about, nothing smells." Irritated with Spike's theatrics, which now included making a repulsed face as he pinched his nose, Buffy felt the need to point out, "and if it bothers you so much, don't breathe!"

"I think it's comin' from you, love. Ugh, did you forget to take a shower or six?"

And there was the Spike she knew and loathed.

"Hey, I just left the gym, smelling of sweat is perfectly natural."

"If you say so," Spike coughed. "I suppose that it's... tolerable, once I get used to it. Bloody humans and your smelly bodily functions." He paused. "Of course, there's another smell I enjoy much more on you," Spike amended with eyes too wide to be innocent.

So he knew. Of course. Stupid vampire noses!

He had the gall to smirk at her. "You know, if you wanted me that badly, all you had to do was ask, pet. I would've been happy to oblige." He stuck his hands in his jean pockets and rocked back on his heels, thrusting his pelvis in her direction.

Faked innocence was key. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"That delicious scent you left all over the cemetery last night."

"What, Caramel Frappucino?"

"No need to play coy, pet. I know what fighting does to you. I know what fighting _me_ does to you," he pointed out, tilting his head as he looked her up and down, dragging his eyes over her every curve.

"Make me wish you could fight back so I could stake you fair and square?" she suggested, hoping his keen senses missed the way her nipples tightened under his gaze.

He snapped his eyes back up to hers, affronted. "None of that, now. Fact is, fighting makes you horny, 's nothing to be ashamed of. It's not like you acted on it, yeah?"

Oh. _Oh._

Spike didn't know.

Ok, so he'd, eww, smelled her arousal. But he thought it was the sparring that affected her. He had no idea that she'd nearly come all over him from the friction alone. She was safe.

"Right, Spike," she replied, trying to go for 'contrite,' but probably only making it to 'vaguely apologetic.' "And, uh, I shouldn't have run out on you last night. That was... childish of me."

"Well, 's all in the past now. Wanna go another round?" he asked.

_Gulp__._ "Um, you know, Spike, I really would, but the thing is I'm, like, _exhausted_ after the day I've had. Lots of heavy lifting and cardio, you know? So, maybe some other time?" Buffy finished on a squeak.

She was amazed to see that Spike looked disappointed. Boy, he must really be lonely if the prospect of _not_spending an evening with her made the light go out of his eyes and his shoulders droop. He was supposed to hate her – and he would even more if he even suspected what she'd used him for last night.

"I understand. Tomorrow night, then?" Spike asked hopefully.

Buffy didn't have the heart to turn him down. She'd just have to repress her body's reaction to him – and her lust-addled brain – and suck it up. It was the least she could do.

"Sure, Spike. Tomorrow night."

**TBC...**


	8. So Hot

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far!

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 8 – So Hot**

Dusk had barely fallen the following evening when Spike exploded out of his crypt. He'd have gone barmy if he'd have stayed cooped up any longer – goddamned summer, the days seemed near endless to him, and the nights flew by in the blink of an eye. It was driving him up the wall.

He wanted to run, to hunt, to kill. Nothing to hunt meant nothing to kill, and he'd be damned – even more so – before he ever took up sodding _jogging_ to work off energy. He might be defanged, but he still had his pride.

Curbing his need to treat Restfield as his own personal obstacle course, he leaned against a stone statue he was particularly fond of and lit the fag he'd dug out of the pack in his duster pocket with the last embers of the one he'd been smoking when the sun had set. It was a bloody good thing he didn't have to worry about cancer or emphysema or heart problems – with the way he was chain smoking lately to take the edge off his restlessness, he'd be dead in five years.

Although tonight his jumpiness had less to do with the hateful, boring summer and more to do with the Summers chit.

The plan he'd tentatively hatched not 72 hours ago – and amended two nights ago – was as good as bust; no real surprise there. His plans had a way of going arse over tit on him.

He'd discovered something shocking last night when he'd ran into the Slayer and her fresh-from-the-gym stink. When she'd turned down his suggestion to go another round right then and there, he'd been, for lack of a better word, disappointed. And when she'd agreed to meet tonight, he'd felt such an intense flash of pure, undiluted joy that he knew he was in big trouble.

He didn't want to play her.

He wanted to seduce her, but he didn't want to dump her when he was done with her. Because he didn't want to be done with her.

Sparring with her the other night had, in hindsight, awakened something in him he'd thought dead and buried since Drusilla had made it clear that his services were no longer required. Sure, the Slayer had made him set off the chip, but before that, he'd been having the time of his unlife going one-on-one with her. She was bloody gorgeous when she was in her element, all fire and passion and _life_. And the fight got her hot, just like it did to him.

She'd enraptured him with her moves, and the fact that she'd been open to spend more time with him when he'd asked last night gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to resort to underhanded tactics to con her into his bed. Perhaps, despite her proclaimed love for the worthless pillock she called her boyfriend, she'd be _willing_ to get to know him better in a carnal sense.

"Spike!"

The Slayer's voice jolted him out of his somewhat disturbing thoughts. He was really off his game if she'd managed to sneak up on him.

He turned and spotted her coming towards him, weaving around the tombstones separating them. She was barely dressed in cotton pants and a sports bra and she looked hot – both literally and figuratively. He could smell the sweet musk of her sweat, so different from the previous night's just-finished-an-intense-workout disaster.

"Slayer... didn't think you'd show," he drawled.

"Didn't we do this whole song and dance not forty-eight hours ago?" Buffy asked, clearly irritated with him. It was anyone's guess as to why, but at least she'd be easy to provoke into attacking him, which could lead to really interesting consequences if he played his cards right.

"Did your Mum make you come out to play with the big, bad vampire again, luv?" Spike couldn't resist teasing her.

"Ha! Big and bad? I _so_ don't think so!"

That hurt. Sodding Slayer knew how important his rep was to him. Couldn't she at least _pretend_ to take him seriously? Oh well, he'd just strike out at her the only way he could – insulting her, or her looks in this case. Birds hated it when their appearance garnered negative comments; he had a century's worth of experience with Drusilla to back up _that_ truth.

"Go to the gym again, Slayer?" he asked, hoping he looked innocent enough so as not to make her suspicious.

"No... I trained with Giles then hit the books with Xander. Why?"

"You're drenched in sweat again, pet. You look like a drowned rat," he pointed out solicitously.

Buffy looked at him with obvious surprise. "Where have you been all day? It's, like, 100 degrees outside!"

"First of all, I was asleep all day in my cool, cozy crypt. Second – 'm a vampire, love. It could be a good sight hotter outside and I wouldn' feel a thing," he pointed out. "But, now that you mention it... 's hot out here, innit?" Spike asked as he chucked off his duster. "Yeah, it's hot."

"How would you know hot? You just finished pointing out that you're a vampire!"

"Ever been a vampire, pet?" Spike asked.

"Well, aside from that time our nightmares became reality... no, I can't say that I have."

"Well, then how would you know if 'm hot or not?" he queried as he fisted the bottom of his t-shirt and started to inch it up over his stomach.

Spike saw and heard her intake of breath at her first glimpse of his abs. "Could you, uh, not do that?"

"Do what?" he asked innocently as he tossed his shirt aside and raised his arms above his head in a stretch. It felt good.

"Uh, take off your clothes? 'Cause, really, it's not that hot outside. What's 100 degrees, really?" Buffy babbled, nervous. Well, wasn't she the cutest thing?

"Is this bothering your pet?" he asked as he turned his hands to the top button of his jeans. He was still debating how far he'd take this little strip show. Based on the tantalizing scent that hit the air the moment he pushed the button through its hole, he could take it all the way and she wouldn't protest as hard as she'd like to.

Buffy was looking more and more flustered by the moment. "No, not bothering me at all," she replied, shaking her head, but her eyes were focused on his hands. "It's just that I'm a bit jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah, girls can't just take off their clothes when it's hot outside," she explained, a different, more interesting look crossing her face.

"And why's that?" he prompted, curious to see where she was going with this.

"Well, it's not..." she trailed off, her eyes glazing over. He could hear her heartbeat speeding up. This was getting more and more interesting...

"Proper? Seemly? Politically correct?" Spike offered, as he grasped his jeans' zipper, prepared to pull it down at the first sign that Buffy wouldn't turn tail and run. The sent of Buffy's arousal – hell, the sent of _Buffy_, period – and the effect he was having on her had turned him on to a point that was almost painful; he was dying to release his cock to her hungry gaze.

"Yeah, that last one," she practically panted.

"Well, kitten, 'm not a politically inclined vamp, so don' hold back on my account," he said.

"Guh," was all Buffy could say.

He took it as the encouragement he assumed she meant it as and slowly began lowering the zipper, keeping his eyes on the top of her blond head as he did so. The minute she raised her eyes to meet his, he'd be ready to gauge her reaction.

But it wasn't to be the one he expected.

**--**

"Spike, stop!" Buffy exclaimed, forcibly pulling herself together in front the incredible display of mouth watering masculinity in front of her.

"Wassat?" Spike asked, mercifully halting his zipper's descent.

Buffy took a deep breath in a probably futile attempt to calm herself down. "Stop, please," she repeated softly.

Spike dropped his arms to his side, tilted his head to the side, and looked at her expectantly, probably hoping she'd elaborate. Too bad she was immediately distracted by the, um, view his hands had been blocking – a faint line of wispy light brown hair trailing from his navel to the shadows concealed by the open V of his jeans. Another gush of moisture hit her panties. _This is getting ridiculous_, she thought.

"Slayer," Spike began. "Are you really goin' to deny a hot vamp the chance to cool himself down? That's a mite heartless of you, innit?" And, damn him, his trademark, sexy smirk chose that moment to make an appearance.

_Oh, boy_, Buffy gulped. She'd only recently come to terms with the fact that Spike was far from repulsive. And now she had to look at that smirk, combined with a beautiful, sculpted chest, strong, muscled arms, defined abs, and utterly lickable nipples? Life was _so_ not of the fair!

And she was dismayed by her realization that never in a million years could Riley – her _boyfriend_ – ever hope to look that amazing shirtless. _This is really, really not good_.

Ok, there were three ways to play this.

One: she could turn and run. Tempting, but she'd already attempted that particular scenario two nights ago, to no avail.

Two: she could threaten Spike with imminent stakeage if he didn't put his shirt back on _right frickin' now_. An appealing option, but it presented the major drawback that she'd no longer be able to ogle his gorgeous, nibble-able – ok, so not a word – six-pack.

Three: she could say 'what the hell' with boyfriends, responsibilities, morals, and normal Slayer/vampire relationships and do what _she_ wanted. After all, it was incredibly hot in the cemetery. And a comfortable Slayer was an effective Slayer.

Really, option three was ultimately selected for the greater good of mankind.

Her choice made, Buffy brought her hands to the drawstring tied in a bow at the front of her pants. She also sent a quick prayer of thanks that she'd opted not to wear a thong.

"Not heartless, Spike. I think it was heartless of _you_ to assume that you were the only one who wanted to cool off." She thoroughly enjoyed the way his pupils seemed to dilate as his gaze was drawn to her fingers. Done with the drawstring, she hooked her thumbs on the waist of her pants and drew them down until the top of her black cotton panties was visible. "Unless you'd rather I didn't take off my pants?" she teased him.

When he didn't respond and only continued staring at her, she felt her first twinge of unease. Had she misread him? Was he honestly just bothered by the heat, no matter how unlikely it was that he could even feel it? Was he just teasing her to see how far she'd go? Was she making a complete ass out of herself?

At that moment, Spike dragged his beautiful blues up from her midriff to meet her eyes. "Huh?" he managed before dropping his gaze back down.

Ok, so he wasn't teasing, and he obviously wanted her to go on. How had she come to this, she couldn't help but wonder. Stripping her pants off in a graveyard in front of her mortal enemy – if that's even what Spike still was – was _not_ normal Buffy behavior.

Of course, she could always reflect upon it tomorrow.

She pushed her pants down and let them pool at her feet before daintily stepping out of them. As Spike's gaze ran appraisingly down her legs, and then back up again, she fought the impulse to cross her arms defensively over her breasts. She was now dressed in nothing but her panties and sports bra – it was weird to feel so naked when she was basically more dressed than when she sunbathed in the backyard in her little red bikini.

But Spike had no way of knowing that, and it was enough to make her nervous.

"Well, Slayer, what next?" Spike was once again staring at her face. She thought she noticed a twinge of wistfulness in his expression, but she chose to ignore it. If need be, she'd add it to her list of things to think of _tomorrow_.

Ugh, enough of the 'Slayer' crap. "Spike, we're standing half naked together in a cemetery... do you think maybe at this point you could call me by my name?"

"Ok then, _Buff__y_, what next?" he repeated.

Good question. Sparring again would be amazing, but there was no way in hell she was getting so close to him and his barely zipped jeans. He looked too tempting in the moonlight to risk it. But she needed to release her energy somehow, and they'd been chatting-slash-stripping in Restfield for long enough to attract the attention of any potential foe looking for a fight.

No sparring, no fighting, no killing. That left the choice behind door number four: running.

"Let's see if a vampire is faster than the Slayer... I'll race you to Shady Rest. That is, if you're not afraid of being beaten by a girl," she taunted him, well used to Riley's quiet annoyance at her strength and stamina.

But Spike only looked intrigued. "Interestin' proposition, pet. And what would the winner get? 'Cause if you want me to race you, you gotta make it worth my while," he taunted back, running his hand down his chest and hooking his thumb through a belt loop, making the open V of his jeans wider and giving her an even more tantalizing glimpse of that sexy line of hair where it met the nest of brown curls now peeking out from his pants...

"A kiss," she blurted out.

"A kiss," he repeated, quirking that dashing scarred eyebrow at her. "That's mighty presumptuous of you, don' you think?"

Eep. What the hell was wrong with her mouth tonight? _It must be the heat_, she tried to convince herself. She would never, _ever_, suggest such a thing if her brain wasn't overheating in the 100 degrees weather.

So instead of answering, she spun on her heels and took off at a dead run towards Restfield's gate.

And allowed herself a small smile when she heard him take off after her

**TBC...**

A/N: Yes, I know it's weird that Spike and Buffy will essentially be dashing through town nearly naked. I guess they're all lusty and just aren't thinking straight!


	9. Running Straight Into Trouble

I'm not sure how normal this is: I'm so excited about chapter 10 that I had trouble writing chapter 9! I tried telling myself that there could be no 10 without a 9, but it was slow going nonetheless. 10 distracted me!

Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.

**Chapter 9 – Running Straight Into Trouble**

Kitten wanted to play, did she?

Chasing after Buffy as she sprinted through the gates of Restfield Cemetery and turned east, Spike focused on the muscular curve of her arse as it flexed beneath her black panties. The Slayer had gorgeous legs. He'd always been attracted to her, but seeing her clad in nothing but her unmentionables skyrocketed his lust for her to near unmanageable heights.

And her suggestion that the winner of their little race be rewarded by a kiss reassured him that his feelings were not unreciprocated. And if 'kiss' were to somehow turn into 'shag,' there would be no complaining from him. None whatsoever.

"Having trouble keeping up with me, Fang Face?" Buffy tossed at him over her shoulder.

The smile on her face and the glint in her eye nearly had him stumbling. Looked like the chit was having fun.

"Not a bit, luv. You just keep on runnin' till you exhaust yourself... then I'll pounce," he threatened. If the smile on his face could pass for 'threatening,' that is.

He was pretty sure he was the faster runner here; Buffy and he were pretty evenly matched in everything they did, but his legs were longer. Simple physics. Or biology. Whatever it was, he knew he could catch her if he wanted to, but he didn't.

He wanted to make this last.

She'd surprised the hell out of him just moments ago when, instead of staking him for presuming she _wanted_ to watch him get naked, she'd shaken off her inhibitions and partially joined him.

Seeing her shyly drop her pants in the cemetery had been one of the most intensely erotic moments of his unlife. Sure, he'd seen and lived plenty of events that could be nominated for the honor, but something about the little blonde Slayer got his blood figuratively boiling in an almost primal way.

He could admit it to himself now.

He only had to make her understand that there was a good reason that she wasn't pushing him away this summer like she would have in the past – she felt it too.

He'd seen it in the cemetery, the hesitant yet determined look in her eyes. She'd resisted at first, but lust and – he hoped – a little something else had taken over.

He'd also smelled it, that first night and again just now, that heady aroma of arousal that was driving him insane with want and making him chase her half naked through Sunnydale's sleepy streets.

Buffy ran left onto the street that would bring them all the way to Shady Rest. She was going full out now, racing for all she was worth towards their destination. She was fast, even for a Slayer, but there was no way he couldn't, and wouldn't, keep up with her. She could sprout wings and make her way to the cemetery as the crow flies and he'd _stil__l_ follow her at a dead run.

He had the sinking sensation that he would now follow her wherever she went.

--

It was a heady sensation. Oh, she was used to running through town with a vampire on her heels. This was by no means an unusual occurrence. But usually, it was because she was leading her prey to the place where she wanted to finish it off on her terms. Now she was leading her prey – because Spike could indeed be considered her prey here, albeit in a more, um, interesting way – towards the place of her choosing for the continuation of their sexy little interlude.

For the first time in months she felt womanly, desirable. Because that bulge she'd spied in his barely zipped jeans _hadn't_ been a roll of quarters. And she was pretty sure she was the inspiration behind it.

As she ran for all she was worth towards the gates of Shady Rest with Spike hot on her heels and gaining fast, she couldn't help but wonder how she'd come to this. This time last week, she would have laughed at anyone who suggested that she'd be all hot and bothered over another vampire. Never would she have suspected that their little 'hey, let's spar to alleviate our boredom and restlessness' pact would lead to _this_.

Never would she have believed that she'd be ok with sprinting through town in nothing but a bra and panties. Yeah, it was scorching hot outside, even now that the sun had set, but still! She just wasn't that type of girl. Usually.

And never would she have thought that she'd be considering cutting her safe, dependable boyfriend loose so she could pounce on _Spike_, of all non-people.

_Oh god_.

Her pace faltered as she digested that particular thought, which had slithered uninvited into her conscious mind.

Break up with Riley so she could be free to pursue Spike? Really?

Break up with Riley, her loyal, somewhat boring significant other, so she could try to seduce Spike, a vampire who had probably never thought of her as anything more than a worthy foe he would kill the second the chip in his head was no longer an issue? Spike, a vampire who wasn't burdened with a soul, who had spent part of the past spring trying to help Adam wreak havoc on Sunnydale?

Spike, a vampire who, for all intents and purposes, had never _really_ shown any interest in her as a woman?

Was she out of her mind?

"Slayer, watch out!" came Spike's voice behind her.

A second too late.

Buffy had been so distracted by her thoughts that she hadn't noticed that Shady Rest's gates were closed.

So she barreled into them face first.

"Owie," she moaned pitifully.

Milliseconds later, a cool, hard chest collided with her back, pressing her even harder into the wrought iron gate.

"You ok, luv?" Spike asked, voice low, bringing his hands up to grasp her waist.

"Gate hard," she complained. At the moment, she was eternally grateful for Slayer healing. Her cheek would bruise for sure.

"Well, the good news 's that you won, pet." Spike whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

The pain? Instantly forgotten. It would've been gone soon enough anyway without her dwelling on it.

She spun around to have the gate at her back. Spike didn't back away; he held his ground and moved his hands up to grasp the spears on either side of her head. She gasped when he moved even closer to her, brushing against her with his denim-encased cock.

"You won," he repeated, lips so close to hers she could practically taste them. "Do you want your prize?"

In lieu of an answer, and unable to help herself, she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his.

Oh god, but they were soft! Soft and moist and cool...

She brought her hands up and laid them flat against his chest, testing the muscle tone and the smoothness of his skin. His arms came down to loosely circle her waist.

Wanting more, she parted her lips and hoped he would take the action as the prompt she meant it as.

He did.

His tongue was just as soft and moist and cool as his lips. _Mm, tongue of Spike..._

Wait.

"I can't," she said into his mouth before lightly pushing him away.

"Huh?" His eyes looked dazed and unfocused. Had she caused that?

"I can't kiss you," she elaborated.

"Um, not to throw stones here, pet, but it _was_ your idea, and you _did_ start this," he pointed out. He moved forward again and reached out, trying to wrap his arms around her waist once more. "So what do you say we agree that you _can_ do this, and quite well at that, an' put this little disagreement behind us, yeah?"

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. And she let him, indulging herself for just a second before...

"Spike, I really can't. I can't be that girl," she explained as she ducked under his left arm and away, forcing him to turn around to look at her. Her heart constricted painfully at the hurt look on his face.

"The girl that teases a vamp an' pulls away? 'Cause there's a term for that."

"Don't you dare say something mean! And I mean the type of girl who cheats on her boyfriend... no matter..." she trailed off.

"No matter what?" he asked, exasperated.

"No matter how much she wants to," she admitted shyly. "I'm sorry."

Spike sighed and cast both hands to his hair to pull on the silvery blond strands. He closed his eyes and tilted his head skywards, obviously trying to gain control of himself lest he do something the chip might make him pay for later.

Buffy waited.

Finally, he spoke. "No need to apologize."

"Ok, why?" she asked, slightly perplexed. What was Spike up to? Knowing him and his impulsive impatience, she'd expected a violent backlash – of the verbal variety, at the very least. But here he was, being kind of sweet and accepting of her backpedaling.

Huh. Spike being kind of sweet. Interesting.

He sighed, as if resigned. "'ve been cheated on by Dru, pet. A lot. I know how it feels, how it hurts. I despise that worthless pillock you call your boyfriend, but let's jus' call this male solidarity, yeah?"

Buffy was shocked. "You have morals? Who knew?"

"No one," he replied sharply. "So let's not have that get around. Would ruin my reputation."

Despite herself, Buffy let out a giggle. He was just too cute!

"Oi, 's not funny!"

"Oh, I disagree!"

"You would!"

"Buffy? Spike?"

Both her and Spike turned to face Xander and Anya, who were staring at them. Anya seemed particularly fascinated by Spike's naked chest.

Buffy suddenly remembered that she wasn't wearing a whole lot of clothes.

"Hi, guys," she chirped with as much perkiness as she could muster. "Um, what are you doing in this part of town? Alone?"

"I think we could ask you the same thing, Buff," Xander replied. "And why are you two practically in the buff?" He smiled widely at his pun.

_Yes, why indeed?_ Buffy thought._Better think of something quick…_

"We ran into a demon," Spike volunteered. "Nasty bugger, an' he was starkers and unhappy 'bout it. Requisitioned her pants an' my shirt."

"Requisitioned?" Xander repeated, perplexed.

"Stole, if you prefer small, easy to understand words," Spike mocked. "Regardless, it's now gallivanting around town in our clothes."

"Unless it disintegrates," Buffy pointed out.

"Huh?" both Spike and Xander turned to face her with incredulous looks on their face. Anya just looked at her knowingly. It made Buffy uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I think I remember Giles mentioning that Cannoli demons –"

"You mean Kanjolee demons, luv," Spike corrected. Well, wasn't he being all helpful, what with the injecting realism into her bluff by correcting her pronunciation.

"Right, sorry. Anyway, apparently they can disintegrate at will. I'm just saying that maybe we'll never find it, that we'll just happen upon our clothes lying in a heap in a cemetery somewhere."

There, all bases covered! There was really no need for Xander, and especially Anya – or was that Anya, and especially _Xander_ – to know that Spike and her were involved in a weird stripping-slash-kissing relationship. Really, it could only lead to major wigs on everyone's part.

"Well, ok, sure, that makes sense... kinda," Xander said. "Do you want us to walk you home, Buff? Since you're all pants-less and stuff, I wouldn't want anyone, or any_t__hing_," he shot a distrustful look at Spike, "to come along and try to take advantage of you."

"Hey, Slayer here!" Buffy pointed to herself with a wounded expression on her face.

"Hence my use of the word 'try.' You coming?"

"Sure, I guess," she agreed as she turned to Spike. Since her back was to the interfering couple, she shot him an apologetic look and mouthed 'I'm sorry' at him.

"Tomorrow night, Buffy?" he asked, again with that hopeful expression – which she was beginning to find _very_ endearing – on his face.

"Tomorrow night, Spike," she responded with a smile. "Maybe we'll finally stumble upon a beastie to kill."

"Yeah, maybe. See you then, Slayer."

She turned back to her friends and motioned for them to follow her. She supposed that heading home was her best option for now.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

**TBC…**


	10. Decisions

A/N: Remember how anxious I was to write and post chapter 10? Well, and I'm kinda embarrassed here, but the scene I had planned for 10 ended up pushed back to 11...

**Chapter 10 – Decisions**

Buffy closed the front door after saying goodnight to Xander and Anya, leaned against it, and sighed.

It had been thirty minutes since she'd left Spike in Shady Rest and she could still feel the smooth, cool skin of his chest beneath her hands, his lips caressing hers, and his tongue gently invading her mouth.

This was not good.

If she'd had fantasies after 'the rubbing incident' – as she now thought of it – two nights ago, she could only imagine the intensity they'd take on after tonight's titillating encounter.

She shuddered and thought longingly of the privacy of her bed. Oh, she'd be fantasizing all right!

Never had Riley had this effect on her, not even in the beginning of their now-doomed relationship. The fantasies she'd concocted had been of a more romantic variety, and they had quickly faded as the relationship progressed. Riley, to her, was _there_. Part of her life because of his physical presence. And right now, he was gone. 'Distance makes the heart grow fonder' had decidedly _not_ taken on its full meaning for her in the past couple of days. Which said a lot for how attached she was to her boyfriend.

Spike, however… If she was honest with herself, she could admit that he had always danced on the edge of her thoughts. Angel, and then Riley, had stopped him from moving closer.

But now that her prime distracter was two time zones away, Spike was taking a whole lot of room, especially since she'd started spending so much time with him the last four nights. She'd found out because of this that not only was he _so_ handsome, but he was fun to be around. He challenged her, which she loved, he made her laugh, he moved with beautiful grace – which brought on daydreams of how he could move in, um, _different_ scenarios.

Also, she liked him. She _really_ liked him.

He constantly surprised her, shattered her perceptions of him. She realized now that she hadn't really given him a chance in the past Sure, he liked pretending he was Mr. Evil Vampire, but she knew better now. In fact, he was kinda... nice. In a totally 'evil' way, of course!

She remembered the way he was with Drusilla. Ok, the dark vampiress was a psycho whore, but he had really cared for her, like, forever. It gave a girl hope that he wasn't a 'love 'em and leave 'em' type of guy.

But did she really want to go there? Did she want to trade in her dependable and, if she was honest with herself, boring boyfriend – her 'sure thing' – for a proverbial loose cannon?

Sure, she admitted she liked Spike, that she was immensely attracted to him, but what did _he_ think of _her_? Playful stripping and kissing aside, Spike and her didn't have an actual relationship – besides the obvious Slayer and vampire complication. She didn't want to put herself out there if he was only going to a) reject her, or b) string her along until he got bored or Harmony came back to Sunnydale.

It was a lot to think about. On one hand, the possibility of exploring something interesting, something hot, something _real_ – a summer romance she could brag about for years to come. On the other, the chance she'd make a fool out of herself, wind up alone and humiliated. And potentially hurt by another vampire.

She sighed and pushed away from the front door. She didn't want to think. Spike made her want to be impulsive. Made her want to just ignore the fact that she had to talk to Riley before she made any rash decisions.

She headed for the kitchen, for the fridge. She needed a snack before bed, preferably of the 'cheese' variety. Too bad her mom wasn't awake; she would have liked to discuss the situation with Joyce, much as she had done earlier in the week. In a purely hypothetical, 'I have a friend who…' kind of way, of course!

The red light on the answering machine was blinking and caught her attention. Strange that her mom hadn't listened to the messages before heading up to bed; she sometimes got work-related calls at home and was a stickler about answering the phone and checking messages.

Buffy pressed 'play' and opened the fridge door as she waited for the messages to start. She perused her options as one of her mom's business contacts in Seattle prattled on about an urn that Joyce might be interested in.

Ah, leftover mac 'n cheese. Perfect.

Riley's voice came on next, painfully loud in the dark, quiet kitchen.

"_Hello, Buffy, Mrs. Summers. It's Riley. It's eleven o'clock, my time, and I was just calling to talk to Buffy. Um, I got your note, thanks. It was good to hear from you. Why don't you call me when you get in, no matter what time? I miss hearing your voice. You can reach me at 515-555-2989. Talk to you soon... I hope. Um, bye."_

Thoughts of food? Totally gone. Riley had called her around nine, which was shortly after she'd left the house. To go find Spike. While her _boyfriend_ was calling her, because he missed her, she'd been prancing down Sunnydale's deserted streets, looking forward to maybe stumbling upon another man – a man she'd then stripped with and kissed while Riley was probably still thinking of her.

Oh, the guilt.

Buffy hit the 'replay' button on the machine, skipped the first message, and concentrated on Riley's again. Hearing his voice did nothing for her, didn't make her lonesome for his presence, or think of the way it sounded when he was whispering in her ear when they were having sex. It didn't even sent little shivers up her spine. Not a good sign. And because it was such a bad sign, she decided, impulsively for once, to call him back. Immediately. Before she lost her nerve. Because, right now, in this particular moment, she knew what she wanted. And it wasn't to spend weeks waiting for her boyfriend to come home from Iowa.

Now, what was that phone number? Buffy sighed, and pressed 'replay' again, this time vowing to pay attention.

--

Spike strolled back into Restfield, too keyed up to head back to his crypt, but too happy to want to head over to Willy's for a drink. She had kissed him. The Slayer had kissed him. Pulled back in the end, but snogged him nonetheless.

He felt like a right ponce for being over the bloody moon because of a simple lip lock, but he couldn't help it. In that brief moment, he had felt more warmth, more promise, than he ever had before.

And all from Buffy, the Slayer, the latest Chosen One in a long line of girls that the likes of him were meant to hunt and kill. What were the odds of that? Of William the Bloody seriously considering making a regular event out of spending time with Buffy, of trying to see if perhaps there was something between them worth exploring – more than just shagging, but perhaps, dare he hope, loving?

Ah, love's bitch, wasn't that what he always was? One kiss, albeit a half-naked one, from a pretty girl and he was already picturing them fighting side by side, ridding the Hellmouth of vamps and demons, and then heading back to his crypt to release some of the sexual energy that always popped up between the two of them whenever they fought – each other, together, whatever. No wonder Dru had left him because of her. He'd thought she was absolutely barmy at the time – more so than usual – but had paid no heed to her ramblings until now.

Him, fancying the Slayer. Well, stranger things had happened, he supposed.

Such as him _not_ making a huge fuss because she wanted to kiss him, but didn't want to cheat on her boyfriend in order to do it. After being made a fool of by Drusilla time and time again, it was refreshing. It would try his patience before too long, but it felt good to be interested in a chit who had principles. And a brain. Buffy was fun to be around, challenged him continuously, and made him laugh. Unlike that bint, Harmony, who was all "blah, blah, unicorns, blah, blah, Blondie Bear, blah, blah, does this make me look fat?" What a pain in the arse she was!

Buffy was interesting, deadly, bloody gorgeous, difficult, caring... desirable.

Unattainable.

Yeah, he was fairly confident that he'd be shagging her brains out before too long, but he wasn't so sure that they'd still be doing the nasty come Christmas, for instance. Even if she decided to cut that soldier bloke of hers free, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't want him back come September.

He was not a creature who was used to _having_ someone. Dru had only been his on loan. He'd wanted to belong entirely to her, and have her for himself, but she'd been saving that honor for her sodding Daddy, leaving Spike out in the cold. Therefore, he couldn't imagine that the situation with the Slayer would be any different. Sure, there was a chance they'd spend some good times together in the coming months, but Buffy was no different than Drusilla in the end: her heart belonged to Angel. And there was no way that Spike could touch that – not even Captain Cardboard had, despite his so-called 'normalness.'

So, he was setting himself up for yet again another heartbreak. It was really too bad that he wasn't the 'love 'em and leave 'em' type – well, except when it came to Harm. His unlife would be so much simpler if he could just stop falling in love.

He was nearing his crypt, but remembered to swing past the place where he and Buffy had shed their clothes in order to pick up his beloved duster before someone else happened upon it. He must've been really distracted by Buffy to have simply left it there when he took off after her – just another example of how he'd lose his head over a girl.

As he swiped up his coat and shirt, he spotted Buffy's pants lying in the grass. No harm in taking them back to his crypt, was there? She'd be pleased that he'd thought to retrieve them for her. And if he perhaps spent time sniffing them and used her smell to inspire naughty fantasies, well what of it? He _was_ evil, after all!

--

Buffy drummed her nails on the kitchen counter as she waited for Riley to pick up the phone. Despite what he had said in his message, she was uncomfortable calling him so late. As the Slayer, she was keenly aware that late-night phone calls were never of the good. In her case, they were usually from a panicked Giles, filling her in on some evil nasty or another. And when she was really lucky? Apocalypse.

Which was why she was suspicious whenever the phone rang after 11 pm.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice greeted her.

"Um, hi. Riley?"

"Buffy?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry to call you back so late," she apologized.

"No, no, it's ok," he reassured her. She could hear rustling in the background.

"Were you in bed?"

"Yeah, well it's past one here, so... yeah."

"Sorry. I remembered the time difference, but your message said to call you, no matter the time, so... I hope I didn't wake anyone else up."

"The number I gave you is my private line."

Private line?

"Private line? But you're there, like, not even two months a year!"

"I had it installed in case the Initiative ever needed me when I was back here. Didn't want my folks to accidentally hear something they shouldn't..." he trailed off.

There was an awkward pause. Buffy nervously twirled the phone cord around her finger while she waited for him to say something, anything. In hindsight, she should have at least found a pair of pants to put on – she felt weird standing in her kitchen in only a sports bra and panties. She also really wanted to get this conversation out of the way, but didn't, at the same time. As she'd dialed the number, she couldn't help but think that it would be just fine with her if he didn't answer. Which just made her feel even guiltier for what she was about to do.

"So, um, how're things in Sunnydale?" Riley asked, finally. "Not to exciting, if that letter you sent me was any indication."

"Yeah, still not much going on. I feel like I haven't slayed anything in forever! It's kinda frustrating." Which was putting it lightly. But best not to emphasize it too much, lest Riley start asking uncomfortable questions, such as 'what are you doing to keep yourself busy?' or 'do you want me to come home?'

"Well, remember, if you're desperate for a good slay, there's always Spike!" Riley laughed.

"Why would you say that?" she asked, injecting a little of that famous Slayer steel into her voice.

"Well, because it's Spike! You know, vampire, annoying, bane of your existence... Stop me when I say something that doesn't ring a bell."

"He's not that bad, when you get to know him!" she protested, surprised at herself for the vehemence of her reply.

Riley just laughed again. "Not that bad? Buffy, this is Spike we're talking about. If it weren't for that chip in his head, you'd have staked him a long time ago."

Buffy's heart sank at his words. He was right, and it made her ashamed to realize it. No matter how much she liked – and desired – Spike now, if that chip wasn't in his head, she'd have dusted him a long time ago. _Maybe. But probably not_, her inner voice conceded.

"Well, that's neither here nor there, Riley." She took a deep breath, and decided to take the plunge. Him talking about Spike that way had riled – ha! – her up and it was now or never. "On a totally unrelated subject..." Another deep breath. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Silence.

"Riley? Are you still there?"

More silence. _Uncomfortable_ silence.

"Riley, say something," she pleaded. "I'm so sorry! I didn't want to hurt you like this..."

"Then take it back," was his reply.

"Take it back?"

"Take it back. You didn't really mean it."

"Excuse me? How do you know what I do and don't mean?"

Riley sighed. "It's simple, really. See, there's this theory that – "

"Don't you dare try to psychoanalyze me, Riley Finn! Me breaking up with you has _nothing_ to do with some weird, obscure psych theory that I've never heard of!"

"Well, then, what is it?" he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

She couldn't answer. What did you say to the guy you were dumping in order to pursue a maybe-affair with a vampire? And not just any vampire – one that the dumpee hated with a passion. Was there anything she really could say?

"Look, Buffy, you're obviously tired and not thinking straight – "

"Now, wait just a minute!"

" – so I'm just going to hang up now," he continued, ignoring her interruption, " and we'll talk about this later."

"But – "

"Goodnight, Buffy. Sweet dreams." And with that, Riley hung up.

Buffy slowly set down the phone, unable to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine at Riley's final words. He had just blatantly overran her break up with him. Which was very scary. It was like he had decided that by refusing to accept it, he could make it not happen. Granted, breaking up with him over the phone, after waking him up, was not the nicest way she could have done it, but still!

Could she thus consider herself single? Did Riley's refusal to hear what she wanted nullify the breakup? Should she be concerned about his attitude?

Gah! Yet more things to think about. As if the whole situation with Spike wasn't enough, now she had to worry about Riley.

Maybe by tomorrow, he'd have seen the light and accept that she'd broken up with him. Hopefully.

**TBC...**


	11. Not Guilty, Not Guilty At All

**Chapter 11 – Not Guilty, Not Guilty at All**

The following evening, after another long day at the gallery – hello, tons of time to think – Buffy reached a decision. Or maybe she had an epiphany. A revelation?

Well, whatever it was, it was relatively simple to explain: She refused to feel guilty.

Not for cold-heartedly dumping her boyfriend yesterday over the phone after waking him up. Yeah, breaking up was supposedly hard to do, but Riley had made it surprisingly easy with his steadfast refusal to hear her.

Not for outright lying about her nocturnal activities to two of her friends last night, with the gleeful participation of her mortal enemy. Half-naked,_former_ mortal enemy at that.

And certainly not for lusting after said former mortal enemy, half-naked or not.

No, there was no guilt to be had here. None at all.

Why? Because she was done with guilt.

Spike was hot, funny, just bad enough to be good, just good enough to be bad – whatever that meant – exciting, gorgeous, dangerous, willing, and, most importantly, _there_. Why should she feel bad for wanting to spend as much time with him as possible? All the rest of her friends were paired off with a significant other that was actually in town and that they cared for. She wanted that too, damn it, and if nakedness and lusty goodness happened while spending time with the vampire she suddenly wanted it with, well who was she to turn her back on it?

She wouldn't. And she would go one step further and ensure that it actually happened. Tonight, preferably.

Her talk with Anya the other night had, with hindsight and blinders off and all that jazz, revealed that she had been unhappy with Riley. Not because he wasn't perfectly nice, and not because he hadn't been an attentive, loving boyfriend.

It was because there was no heat. No passion. No I-wanna-tear-your-clothes-off-and-ravish-you-right-frickin'-NOW-ness to be had in all their relationship.

Hand-delivered orgasms, however, were aplenty. Bountiful, even. Guilt over being stronger and a better fighter was also in abundance.

And that she could do without.

Spike reveled in her strength and agility – had he not sought her out to spar with? And she was willing to bet that over a century on the planet had taught him a thing or two about pleasing a woman.

Which was why she was prowling through town looking for him, dressed in nothing but a flippy, flirty skirt and a halter top, _sans_ bra. He hair was loose around her shoulders; she knew it was a look men liked and even though it was still hot as hell outside and a bun would be a smarter idea, she couldn't resist putting all chances on her side for a little seduction action.

She was antsy, unfulfilled, and itching for a little 'rough and tumble,' as Spike would put it. And if she had anything to say about it, the outcome would leave both her and the vampire quite satisfied…

She would _not_ take no for an answer. Spike wouldn't know what had hit him.

And if she felt just a _twinge_ of discomfort at the idea of pursuing someone not even twenty-four hours after breaking up with her steady boyfriend, well she would allow herself to feel a tiny amount of guilt.

But not for long.

An agonizing hour of searching later, she was still wandering Sunnydale's quiet streets and getting frustrated with it. Usually, she couldn't set foot outside her house or dorm without stumbling over Spike. Now, when she actually _wanted_ to run into him, he was nowhere to be found!

Was that irony, she wondered? Or just another annoyance she could add to Spike's lengthy résumé?

"Buffy!"

"Anya, hi!" Anya was resting against a lamppost in front of Sunnydale's Other Gym, in full workout regalia, and looked unusually worn out. "Should I bother to ask what you're doing here?"

Anya was also panting softly. She took a swig of water from the plastic bottle she was holding. "I just got out of a boot camp class at the gym, which I," she paused for a few pants, "low-impacted my way through like you would not believe."

"Tough class?" Buffy sympathized.

"Human bodies are not made for such exertion! I swear, if that instructor had uttered the words 'eight more' followed by 'again' one more time, I would've summoned D'Hoffryn in a split second to," Anya paused yet again for a few more pants, "wreak some serious vengeance on the girl."

"If it can be any consolation, it _does_ get easier after a couple of classes," Buffy reassured her.

Anya wiped her arm across her brow and pushed off the lamppost to come stand next to Buffy. "Easy for you to say, she of the innate physical fitness and coordination. If I didn't value the intensity and frequency of my orgasms so much, I'd give this up all together."

Trust Anya to, once again, bring everything back to sex.

"And why weren't you there tonight?" Anya continued. "I thought aerobics could be something fun we could do together. And I just _know_ that with Riley away and all, you need stuff to do." She paused, thoughtfully. "Unless you've already found some_thing_ else to do?"

Buffy decided to ignore that last question. No way was she rising to the bait Anya was dangling in front of her. She obviously hadn't fallen for last night's 'the demon stole our clothes' subterfuge. "Um, I kinda broke up with Riley last night. Or at least I think I did."

"You broke up with Riley!" Anya exclaimed. Loudly.

"Hey, keep it down," Buffy admonished her.

"Who broke up with who now?" a very familiar voice asked from behind her.

She turned around to face Spike. _Now_ he shows up? After she'd spent the better part of an hour scouring the streets and cemeteries for him, he shows up while she's gabbing with Anya – loud-mouthed, brazen, speaks-her-mind _Anya_ – and talking about her very recent breakup. Not good.

Or, she realized, very, _very_ good. It all depended on how you wanted to look at it…

"Go away, Spike! Buffy and I are sharing some quality girl time!" Anya made little shooing motions with her hands.

"Oi, 's a free sidewalk, ain't it?" Spike retorted.

Time to get things back on track before the convo veered too far away from her latest predicament. "I'm pretty sure I broke up with Riley last night," she admitted, looking up at Spike through her lashes.

"Pretty sure? Wha' in blazes does that mean?"

"Yes, Buffy, please explain," Anya chimed in.

Buffy spotted a bench near the entrance to the gym and made her way over to sit, trusting that both Anya and Spike would follow her.

"When I got home last night, there was a message from Riley on our machine. He wanted me to call him back, so I did, we talked, about nothing really, and it just hit me: our relationship wasn't going anywhere."

Ok, not technically the truth, but 'I broke up with Riley in order to have dirty naked fun' was not something she'd admit in the presence of said dirty naked fun and she-of-no-discretion.

"Oh, Buffy, I could have told you that," Anya admonished.

"Me too," Spike concurred.

"Ok, what do you know?" she asked Spike. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, "Let's just say that a conversation I had with Anya the other night _may_ have opened my eyes to the fact that he's been gone for about a week now and I don't miss him. At all. Which, correct me if I'm wrong, is so not a good sign that all is right in Buffy's relationship land."

"You broke up with Riley because of something I said?" Anya asked, pleased.

"Partly, yeah," Buffy admitted.

"Wha's the other part?" Spike inquired.

"That is none of your business, Mister!" she exclaimed. And then something occurred to her. "Hey, and not that I want to be all bitchy Buffy here, but why am I sharing this with you two when I haven't even told Willow and Xander yet?"

"Because I'm your friend too, Buffy," Anya replied with a hurt look on her face. "Or at least I thought I was."

"You are! It's just that…" she trailed off, unsure of where she wanted to go with her explanation.

"Just that you're closer to Willow and Xander and wanted to tell them first," Anya finished for her. "I get it. Well then, I'll just get out of your way. Wouldn't want you to spill any more late breaking news to me by accident!"

Anya spun around and stomped off, short ponytail bouncing.

"Anya, wait!" Buffy started after her, but Spike grabbed her hand to halt her.

"Let her go."

"What? No! I hurt her feelings, I should go apologize," she explained, tugging on her had to get him to release her before giving it up as a lost cause. They were too evenly matched for her to overpower him and get him to let go. And, truth be told, she kind of liked the feeling of his cold hand in hers.

"Let her go," Spike repeated. "I know enough about you birds to know that when you leave in a huff, you wan' to be left alone for a bit."

He let go of her hand then and reached in his pockets to extract a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. She watched him, fascinated, as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag. God, it was just _too_ sexy that he was left-handed. It made everything he did look slightly off, but in an interesting way. She remembered back during their engagement, when they'd been snuggled in Giles' armchair and he'd been scribbling away in a notebook. She'd loved the way he'd been holding the pen, the way it made her focus on his hand and fingers. She recalled how she'd drifted into a daydream then, of those fingers stroking and those hands kneading–

"So, what're you doin' tonight, pet? Found any demons that need killin'?" Spike inquired, effectively bringing her back down to earth.

"Actually, I was looking for you," she admitted, falling into step at his right as he started walking away from their spot in front of the gym.

"Really? 'm surprised, thought you'd be due for a spell of avoidance after last night," he smirked down at her.

"Good point. So I'll see you around, then?" Buffy teased and made to turn around and leave him. Of course, it was also perhaps just a ploy to get him to grab her hand again.

Spike did not disappoint. He halted her escape once again by twining his fingers through hers. "No need for that, luv. We're both adults here." He smirked. "Some of us more than others."

"Hey," she protested, using her free hand to smack him on the shoulder. "I'm nineteen, therefore an adult. And I find it very adult of me that I'm walking with you in a civilized manner instead of being all avoido-girl because of what happened last night."

"Yeah, about that…" Spike trailed off, sounding unsure, which was so unlike him that Buffy immediately dropped his hand and prepared herself for the inevitable rejection she was sure coming.

"Yeah, I know," she started to say, before Spike interrupted her.

"Was a bloody revelation, it was."

"Huh?" Buffy stopped in her tracks, shocked. She'd expected a brush off, maybe a little cruelty. Certainly not to hear her former – yes, still former – enemy admit that it hadn't been a gigantic mistake.

"What do you mean, 'huh'? You were there! It was bloody fantastic." He whirled around to face her and grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "Wanna do it again?"

Oh god, the way he was looking at her! Blue eyes searching hers, hope etched across his features. Her gaze focused on his mouth, those lips. It was what she wanted, wasn't it? What she'd set out for tonight, what she'd dressed for, shaved her legs in anticipation of? And it would be so easy to just lean up and press her lips to his and see where it went, how far it would go.

A part of her, not the girl, but the Slayer, was shocked at how fast her opinion of Spike had changed in less than a week. He'd gone from a disgusting, evil thing to a desirable partner, an equal, someone she could honestly see herself being with. Someone she'd broken up with her boyfriend – or at least attempted to – for. And now that the fateful, symbolic 'last chance to back down' moment had arrived, she was faced with one last decision that would change everything: to kiss Spike again and embrace something new and dangerous and exciting, or to back away and… well, she wasn't sure what, but odds were it wouldn't be as fun as option number one.

Which made leaping into the unknown easier.

So she whispered a soft "yeah," barely loud enough for even Spike's sensitive ears to hear and leaned in and up in an open invitation for him to make a move.

Thankfully, he wasn't a man that needed directions. He slid his hands up from her shoulders to cup her face. "Yeah?" he asked softly. "You really wanna do it again, luv? No going back this time. No stopping."

"No going back," she murmured in reassurance, closed her eyes, and waited.

And waited.

Just as she was about to open her eyes to see what the hold up was, she felt his lips brush hers in a feather-light caress. Despite the hot night, she shivered. And then he did it again, and again, teasing her lips with soft, barely-there brushes, changing the angle on every kiss.

It was gentle, surprisingly, and it felt so _good_. Who knew? William the Bloody had a tender side.

Buffy Summers did, too. However, she also had a penchant for something a little harder, a little more demanding. Months of sweet Riley kisses had made her crave... more.

"More," she therefore whispered when Spike's lips left hers to plant a trail of moist kisses across her cheek to her ear. He bit down gently on her earlobe, and she shivered a bit harder.

"You want more?" he murmured in, guh, _that_ voice and her knees all but gave out from the sensations it stirred between her legs.

She moaned in reply and nodded. Tilting her head to give him better access to the erogenous zone that was the place where her neck met her shoulder, she darted her tongue out to trace the shell of his ear and whisper a breathless "please."

His hands had slid down from her face to her shoulders. Which wasn't where she wanted them, but she could wait. Spike was proving to be less of the want-take-have vampire than she thought he would be, which was fine with her. Much as she had decided that pursuing something with him this summer was of the good, and that her patience for gentle and hesitant touches was of the not, she wasn't sure that she wanted to jump straight into the harshness she was expecting from the likes of him.

"Buffy!" he gasped against her neck, cooling her skin with that oh-so-convenient chill of his. "Gonna make you feel so good, luv."

"Promises, promis–"

She interrupted herself with an "eep" when Spike simultaneous bit down on her erogenous zone with blunt teeth and cupped her breasts with hands that had moved way too fast for her to keep track of.

The fact that they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk did nothing to temper the throaty moan she issued at the feelings his fingers incited as they plucked at her nipples, naked as they were through the thin cotton of her halter. There was therefore no way she could have stopped her hands from gripping his hips and jerking them into hers with a force that would have bruised her former.

"Buffy!" he gasped again as he trailed his hands down to grip her hips to anchor himself as he began rubbing his hard length against her centre. "Bloody hell but you're warm."

"It's," gasp, "like, super," moan, "hot outside," gasp, "Spik–"

A blood-curling, familiar scream cut her off then, killing her ardor as effectively as a bucket of cold water.

Blue eyes met hazel, awareness and recognition merging to form panic and excitement.

"Anya!" they both shouted before breaking their heated embrace and instinctively turning toward the direction from which the scream had come.

"I knew I should have gone after her!" Buffy exclaimed before grabbing Spike's hand and pulling him along as she started to run.

**TBC...**


End file.
